Amoriluminescence
by ADreamingSongbird
Summary: A disillusioned Dersite knight, tired of war, deserts the army and wanders aimlessly. A lonely Prospitian witch, shunned for her magic, hides from the world after she loses everything. Then their paths cross, and suddenly, life doesn't seem quite so hopeless anymore. DaveJade, AU.
1. In Which Dave Gets Rained On

Your name is Dave Strider and—oh fuck your boots are soaked through and your feet are getting wet. Great. At this rate, with the rain coming down in sheets like this? Yeah, there is no fucking chance you're gonna get a fire going to dry off tonight. Scowling, you tug your hood further over your face—like that's going to do much—and trudge onward through the forest. It's going to be a long, miserable night, that's for sure.

A brilliant flash of lightning illuminates the entire wood around you for an instant before it's followed by a low, rolling thunderclap. The wind picks up and you heft your shield on your back, hunching your shoulders and trying not to shiver. It's late spring, almost early summer, but it's _cold_ in this storm. Not for the first time, you think almost longingly of the warmth of the tent you left behind, the warmth of the tent and the fire and the hot food cooked over it. But that tent was the tent of a Dersite knight, and man, you are _sick_ of being a Dersite knight.

At least you're not a Dersite knight anymore. You deserted yesterday evening, and you've been making your way away from the warfront as fast as you can ever since. You're fucking exhausted by fighting their shitty wars for the crown's glory and nothing else. The orders you received to put a tiny farming village to the torch were the final straw—no fucking thank you. War is horrible and you want no more part in it. You're _done_.

God, though, this rain. You're soaked to the skin and honestly, this cloak is probably leeching more heat than it's retaining, but it's not like you're about to take it off or anything. Instead, you're just going to keep squelching through the mud on this goddamn forest floor and hope that you're not leaving a trail that'll be easy to follow, because if you are you're fucked because your former "brothers in arms" will hunt you down and execute you for being a deserter. A traitor's death, for the guy who was once third in line for Derse's throne. Hah. Your family has probably disowned you by now. But you don't care. You couldn't keep living like that, in the goddamn army. You couldn't do it. You _can't_ do it.

An hour or two pass like this. You give in to the shivering and keep trudging on. The forest is really dark now—you have a feeling the sun has finally set, too, behind all the clouds—and you can hardly see where you're going. In fact, you are surprised you haven't tripped over more tree roots than you actually have.

A little light near your foot catches your attention, and you stop, looking down at it. It's a glowing mushroom, innocuously shining at you in the rain. It looks entirely too pleased with its fungal self and you kind of want to kick it, except you notice another one a foot or two away, and then another one after that, and then—

This is a path. A path made of weirdass glowing mushrooms, but a path.

Paths usually lead somewhere, like to warm houses or to villages or to anywhere that isn't in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm in a foreign forest and yeah okay wow you're desperate enough to get out of the rain that you're now following a bunch of glowing mushrooms wherever they might take you. Part of you is yelling that this is a _bad fucking idea_ , that you're being an idiot, but the much louder part is thinking that there might just be a fire at the end of this path, or at least maybe a little cave where you can hide out the night. That would be cool, being somewhere without water falling on your head.

After maybe ten or fifteen minutes of sludging through the rain following the lights, you stumble upon a little clearing that's got something better than your imagination could have given you:

A cozy-looking, well-lit cottage. With smoke rising from the chimney.

Smoke means fire. Fire means people. People might mean shelter from the storm.

Fuck yeah.

Your feet have carried you down the path through its little picturesque flower garden and up the steps to the front door before your mind catches up with your body and clamors at you to wait, you moron, does this not seem suspicious at all? It's way too convenient to not have a catch.

But before you can debate the pros and cons of this cutesy little cottage, the door swings open and you see a girl. She's wearing a long dark skirt and a too-large blouse and has big round spectacles that frame big green eyes, which are currently looking inquisitively at you.

"Oh, gosh," she says. "You're soaked to the bone! Come in, sit down by the fire, warm up!"

Damn your feet. They have once again acted of their own accord and now she's closing and bolting the door behind you. Admittedly, so far her cabin doesn't seem too suspect—there are no dead bodies littering the floor, no blood smears on the walls, and you suppose that if you need to flee you can. But in the meantime, it is warm and cozy in here, and there is a wooden stool resting conveniently right in front of the hearth. Perfect.

You lose yourself in staring into the flames for a long moment, until there is a soft "ahem" from behind you and you turn to see the girl again. She's holding a bowl of ... is that hot soup? Seriously?

"I'd just finished making dinner when you showed up at the door," she explains, a little mysterious smile playing about her lips. "If you'd like some, there's plenty...?"

Your stomach growls as you sheepishly accept the bowl and she starts to turn away to get her own, presumably. "Thanks," you say, then look around. "Are you the only one around here, or what?"

She stops, looks at you with a mysterious glint that you're not too sure you are comfortable with shining in the depths of her eyes. Something about the way one of her brows rises suggests an ominous feeling like that you get when wandering alone at midnight, as if there is power in her that you cannot fathom. "Yes," she answers, "but don't take that to mean you can just waltz on in like you own the place. You are my guest, Sir Strider."

Just like that, the happy little daze you've been in snaps away and you're on your guard again. "Okay, two things," you frown, putting the bowl down in your lap and shifting your weight ever so slightly so that if you need to, you can get on your feet and sprint the hell out of here before this girl can so much as blink. "How do you know my name, first of all?"

She throws her head back and lets out a merry laugh. "You just confirmed it. I didn't really know until this moment."

Damn. You feel like an idiot, kind of. But she still hasn't explained how she _guessed_ your name was Strider, then. So you'll wait for her to answer here before you continue.

"What's the second thing?" she asks, tilting her head to one side.

You press your lips together and give her a look that says clear as day _come the fuck on_. You're not saying a word til she's given an actual answer to your first question. The second thing is sort of a follow-up anyway.

Instead, she shifts her weight from side to side, stirring her own bowl for a moment. "But then again, it isn't 'Sir' anymore, is it?"

Okay, that's it. "Right. What the fuck?"

She blinks and her posture changes, becomes more open and less coldly regal and more chipper and friendly. "Wasn't it obvious? I thought it was obvious. The mushrooms weren't a dead ringer? Or the garden?" Suddenly she doesn't look all mysterious and forboding, she just looks like a dorky girl in some too-large clothes as she bounces on her feet, staring at you and waiting for a moment before she finishes speaking. "I'm a witch!"

You immediately glance at the door. Witches are known to everyone as _bad news_. But ... then again, so are renegade knights. And if she has magic, there's no guarantee you could make it before she spelled you anyway, if you tried to run. You're stuck here, unless she wants you to leave. Great.

"We outlaws have to stick together, you know," she adds, then frowns. "Why are you not eating? Do you not like it? It's my grandmother's recipe, you know, but it's been a while since I made it... is it not good? I have bread and cheese too if—"

"No, stop," you interrupt her, running a hand through your wet hair. It comes away dripping and you look at it with disgust for a moment as you try to gather your thoughts, which seem way more content to be spinning wildly out of control. "Stop. Hold the fuck up. You know all this about me and I don't even know your name or what's going on or—"

"Jade."

"What?"

"My name," she explains, plopping down onto thin air and hooking her heels onto the lower bar on a stool that doesn't actually exist. "It's Jade."

"Jade," you repeat. "Uh, nice to meet you. I think."

She laughs and blows on a spoonful of her soup, sipping on it carefully before she responds. "Sorry, I guess I did come on strong there... you see, it's been a while since I've had a visitor at home, so when I had the premonition you were coming I got really excited, but then it was so rainy today I thought there was no way you'd actually show up, so I didn't really think about how to not freak you out..."

"Premonition?" you ask. How much does she know about you, anyway? She's not doing a very good job of not freaking you out, honestly. This is weird.

"Argh!" She puts the bowl down on a table that matches her stool in amounts of existiness, with a bit more force than necessary, and buries her face in her hands for a second, thick hair falling all around. Then she pushes it back and shakes her head, offering a hand to you with a bright smile. "Okay! Let's try this again. Hello, I'm Jade, you're a traveler who's soaked to the bone, you can come in and stay the night and keep on going in the morning when the storm has cleared up, and I just want to tell you that it's okay that you're a deserter because I'm technically an outlaw too, so no worries there. Did I do better this time?"

You take her hand and shake it firmly, raising your eyebrows at her. "Aside from still knowing more about me than you should, and also having weird magic furniture," you say drily, "yeah. Better."

She beams and keeps holding onto your hand for a moment too long, letting go just before it becomes really awkward. You take a tentative sip of soup and discover that hey, it's actually pretty good. Okay. You can live with this. Hot food, warm hearth, roof over your head, yeah, this is good.

"Oh," Jade interrupts your thoughts, eyeing you critically as if she's measuring you in her mind, "and if you want to change out of those wet clothes, I think I have some that might fit you. My brother's."

"I thought you said you live alone," you frown, although the thought of a change of clothes is really, _really_ appealing.

"I do," she says in a clipped voice. You're getting the feeling that her family is a touchy topic when she sighs and adds, "He's dead."

Oh. "Sorry," you mutter, dropping your gaze for a second. Yeah ... this war is bullshit. It's taken a lot of lives on both sides and honestly, it's more than a little pointless, and that's coming from you, the guy who was third in line for the Dersite throne before he left the army. You've breathed politics since you were born, and ignoring the fact that you fucking _hate_ politics, you know your way around them pretty well, and yeah. This war is bullshit.

"It's ... not okay," she frowns, then shrugs. "But I'm coping."

You kind of wish you could sympathize, could comfort her. But you haven't lost family to the war, just friends in the army, and that's not the same as being a civilian who lost a family member. Your family is all nice and safe back in the capital city. Dirk is being a nice crown prince, Roxy is running the spy guild, and Rose is doing ... whatever she does. You were never too clear on that anyway. She was always big into the politics thing, which you tended to avoid like the plague.

"Sorry," you say again, because you're oh so terribly eloquent, right?

"Don't worry about it," she shakes her head, standing. "I'll go get them for you and we can hang what you're wearing up in front of the hearth, so it'll be dry by morning. Then you can eat and I'll show you to your room for the night—it's kind of small, sorry—and you can be on your way by morning and that'll be that."

"Yeah, thanks," you nod at her retreating back, feeling distinctly like there's some part of this conversation that went the wrong way. "That'll be that."

* * *

In the morning, you walk out of the little spare room Jade let you sleep in and are faced with a window that shows a small lake instead of a forest floor. The sky is still very dark and the water is still pouring down. As you watch—flabbergasted because really? Now, still, when you're warm and dry? Fuck you, weather—lightning flashes across the clouds and thunder rumbles ominously.

You shake your head and head downstairs to the kitchen. You're really not looking forward to trudging through that for another day, but it doesn't really look like you have a choice. Unless Jade will let you stay again, but you can't really ask that of her.

"Good morning, and no," Jade says as soon as you enter to find her cooking breakfast. "I'm not sending you out in that. You can just leave tomorrow, Dave."

"I never told you my given name," you grumble as you accept the plate she hands you—it's got toasted bread and some fried eggs, and there's jam and butter and cheese on the counter. Sweet. "Thanks."

"Oh, oops," she laughs, sheepish, as she flips a piece of toast and presses it to the pan. "The premonitions strike again! Sorry. I promise I don't actually know that much about you, just little bits and pieces. But I guess in return you can ask me anything you want to know?"

As you stuff a piece of bread into your mouth and seat yourself at the cluttered counter, you consider that offer. What do you want to know about her?

"For starters," you say after you swallow, "what's _your_ full name, anyway?"

"Jade English-Harley," she answers with a quick grin in your direction, fired over her shoulder. Okay, that was an easy one. Jade English-Harley. You mull the name over for a moment as you ponder what else you want to know.

"You're a witch?"

"Yes," she perks up, twirling around to beam at you as she clasps her hands together. You're not entirely sure, but you think you might also have seen little green sparks fly from her fingertips as she did that. Weird. "Mostly a hedgewitch! I do small enchantments, potions, healing spells, the like. Although I'm trying to get my hands on some texts to learn about other kinds of spellcasting. But yes, witch, that's me. It's not a bad life, really!"

"Hm." You stuff another bite into your mouth. This witch sure knows how to make a damn good breakfast, at least. God, you're hungry. "You usually talk about all this magic stuff to every traveller you meet? I mean, I'm not turning you in or anything because hell, they'd just arrest me too, but c'mon, that can't be a safe way to live your life."

Jade gives you a long-suffering look and a sigh. "Dave, I already _knew_ you weren't going to turn me in, or else I wouldn't have said a thing! That's how premonitions work, you know. They give me enough information that I know how to act or what to do."

"Oh." That makes sense, you guess. "So that's a no?"

"That's a no," she confirms. "To most people, I'm just a weird girl living alone in the woods, no magic involved. But then again, most of the time I never get visitors anyway. The forest road was never popular to begin with, and it's even less so now that there's the war traffic down south, you know?"

"Yeah," you agree. The war traffic changes a lot of things. Most of the towns the army had you stop in were totally transformed into army stops and nothing else—over the years, they had just lost their character as every customer who wasn't a soldier left for places that weren't swarmed by said soldiers. It's pretty dismal, honestly. "I know."

She eyes you with an expression you can't quite place, something a bit pensive and curious and also very knowing, before she turns back to the stove. Silence—well, silence other than the sound of sizzling food and the rain outside—falls. Maybe you should say something, try to restore the conversation and mood and shit? ... Nah, fuck it. You return your attention to your food.

Seconds tick by. Jade starts humming to herself, which you guess is nice because usually when people hum it means that they aren't mad or in a bad mood, and talking about the war can always put people in bad moods, so you're glad that she's not. And at least her voice isn't terrible. Some people you marched with... eugh. That's one good thing about deserting. No more dumbasses who think they can sing marching songs.

The sound of a plate being placed upon the counter next to yours brings your thoughts back to the present, rather than wandering the musty old barracks you used to live in with your fellow knights. Jade is perched next to you on a stool of her own—a real, tangible one, this time—and is busily slathering jam on her toast. When she finishes, she takes a moment to observe her handiwork, pleased, and then she notices a bit that's thicker than the rest or something and has to spread it over the entire slice all over again. You can't help but snicker a bit, and without really thinking she lightly elbows your side and says "Shush, you!"

"I didn't say anything," you shrug like the true smartass you are, raising your eyebrows and shrugging. You get elbowed again for your troubles.

"You were thinking it," she says, taking a small bite from her bread. You roll your eyes but shrug, conceding the point, and let the companionable silence fall again.

It's kind of surprising you, honestly, the fact that you feel such an honest camaraderie with her already, but then again, she _did_ take you in and give you food, dry clothes, and shelter during a big storm. You don't trust her with your life yet, but you do kinda like the girl. Normally you don't like people so soon after meeting them, but you guess these circumstances aren't exactly your norm, either. You're really fumbling around in the dark here, is what you're trying to get at with these rambling thoughts. You're on the run, you don't know where you're going, you're totally clueless.

Well, that's just great. You have no idea what the fuck you're supposed to do now, honestly. Maybe you should have thought this through better _before_ you deserted. Rose always said not thinking things through or planning things out was one of your biggest weaknesses.

Rose always ...

Shit. _Rose_. It's sort of just starting to hit you that you have no idea when you're going to see your family again. You have no idea when you're even going to see _Derse_ again.

You really, really didn't think this through, did you?

Shit.

Okay.

You'll sit down and plan out your next five thousand moves before you leave. This storm doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon anyway, so you have time for that. You'll figure out where you're going and what you're doing with the rest of your miserable little life now that you've gotten away from the front lines and then you'll just do that. Yeah. Okay. And you'll write Rose a letter. That's step one. That's what you'll do soonest, as soon as you get the basics taken care of. Right.

God, you are so not ready for this whole 'living on your own' thing, are you? Come to think of it, you've always had other people around, making plans and ideas. You've never had to do everything for yourself.

Holy shit, companionable silences over breakfast are a _bad_ idea. You're about to have a fucking meltdown over here because you've been left alone with your thoughts too long. And you haven't even gotten to the bad ones, either!

Your appetite has diminished greatly. You push the last bits of your food around on your plate and glance at the girl next to you, wishing desperately for this silence to stop. You can't deal with it much longer.

"So, uh, Jade," you say a bit too quickly and too suddenly to be entirely natural. She looks over at you questioningly, and you scramble to find words to actually make conversation, because guess what, you didn't think this part through either. "Um, what exactly should I do all day? I mean ... this is your house and all, and you're letting me stay, so is there ... fuck, I don't know, is there anything I can do to help you out or something, or ...?"

She looks a bit surprised, her lips turning into a round little "o" for a second, and then she giggles, covering her mouth with one hand sheepishly. "Um, well, if you really want to help, we could split some of the chores. That way they'd all get done faster and we could have some time to sit and talk some too! It'll be nice, we can have tea and get to know each other a little or something."

Chores. Just like at army camp, huh? "Yeah, sure, sounds good to me," you say lamely. It's not that you mind helping, though. You are all for having something to do.

Jade claps her hands gleefully. "Yay!" she beams. "Okay, do you mind maybe chopping some extra firewood for me? The stockpile by the house is running low, but there's a lot of logs out back in the storage shed."

It's raining ... a lot ... and she wants you to chop firewood. Hopefully your lack of enthusiasm doesn't show on your face, but wow, you were hoping to not go out in that deluge. Damn. You asked for this, though. _Went and put your foot in it again, Strider._

It must show on your face anyway, because she laughs. "Sorry, sorry, stop looking at me like that! I forgot to mention the spells. You won't get wet, and the wood will be all dry, too, promise!"

"Oh, good," you say with relief. "That sounds a hell of a lot better. Yeah, I can do that. Now, or what?" Expecting 'as soon as possible' you start to stand, but she grabs your arm and tugs you back down.

"After breakfast!" she chides, frowning at you. "It's not _that_ urgent. And then while you do that, I can take care of some stuff in the house—witchy things," she adds when you look at her questioningly, "and after _that_ , well, I guess I'll just spell the laundry dry, and we can make lunch, and then sit and talk for a while in the living room. How does that sound?"

"Sounds great to me," you say, settling back onto your stool. You'll eat the rest of this and then go outside, sure. You can do that. Now that you're pointedly not thinking about anything, your appetite has come back in full strength!

It occurs to you then that as someone who has been living outside the law for a while, from the looks of it, Jade might be able to help you out a bit in terms of figuring out "what the fuck do I do with myself now". You figure you'll ask her about that this afternoon, after all the chores are taken care of. But for now, you're not thinking about that. You'll just sit here and enjoy your breakfast and the presence of some pleasant company, and outside, the rain keeps falling from the grey sky.

* * *

 _AN: Hello and welcome to this little fic! In this AU, lovingly called "tdaifodstuck" (tdaifod standing for "the dersite army is full of dicks"), we'll be taking a new spin on knight!Dave and witch!Jade. It's going to be a relatively short story but hopefully a good one, with fluff and cutes and angst and possibly death too :D all that fun stuff._

 _Thanks for giving it a read! If you'd drop a review, that'd be even better. :)_

 _Updates are probably going to be weekly - so, every Friday._


	2. Wherein Jade Sings To Some Plants

_Six weeks later._

Your name is Jade Harley, and you're very pleased this morning! Your mandrakes are looking absolutely lovely. It's late summer and they're coming into full bloom, and oh, you do love the sight of flowers glistening in the dew just after dawn.

Kneeling in the dirt, you trace the outline of a leaf and smile as the dewdrops roll onto your fingertips, bringing your hand up to your eyes to examine the play of the sunlight on the water. It's gorgeous, and the backdrop of the birds just starting to sing makes it even better. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, just enjoying the stillness of your forest.

"Well, Grandpa," you say softly, smiling at the air, "you always said to take pleasure in the smallest things, too, and here I am! Dewdrops on leaves. I guess you were right, though, like usual. The smallest things are just as beautiful as anything else."

He doesn't answer, of course. He never does, and he never will. He's dead. But it makes you feel a little better to talk to him anyway.

You straighten then, pushing yourself to your feet, and wipe your hand on your shirt before you tie your hair back into a messy bun. There's some pruning you've got to do, and it's best to do it early in the morning before it gets too hot outside.

As you bring your hands back down and make your way through the beds to the herb garden, which is the part of your large garden that's most in need of pruning, you murmur the incantation that puts a protective shield around your hands and wrists. The shields are like those thick gloves that your grandfather always had, but with the spell version, you don't have to worry about heavy, hot gloves that get dirty and are just a pain overall. These just protect your hands from thorns and things while still letting air through, which is very nice in comparison.

Pruning is methodical, kind of mechanical work. It doesn't require too much attention, so your mind wanders while your hands find the old buds and leaves and gently pinch them away. Before long, you're humming, and then you're singing, a love song that Jake always sang to you when you were too small to remember much. You remember his voice, though. _You will always be my darling darling dear, my darling darling dear, oh, stay here with me_. It's a lighthearted, sweet song. It's also probably your favorite song in the world.

Jake used to garden with you, back when you lived in a village with other people, before your magic started manifesting and the war tore everything apart in one awful month. You don't like to think about that month, though. Instead you think about life before that, when you lived with Jake and Grandpa and you were _happy_.

You ... okay, this is a secret, and by that you mean it's a secret you keep from yourself, but you're ... you're not happy anymore. You like to pretend you are, but ever since you fled and came to live here alone, you haven't been _living_ , you've just been _existing_ , clinging on day after day with nothing really to look forward to other than more of the same. It's why you got so darn excited when you had that premonition about a visitor! A break in the monotony, a chance to actually care about something again, whatever.

Having someone else living with you is nice, you think. It's very, very nice.

It's funny, though. He arrived in the middle of the storm seeking shelter, and then ... well, the next day there had still been a storm, so he hadn't left, and you'd sat and chatted with him some, and he'd admitted he wasn't sure where he was going or what he was doing now. That—well, that sounded a little too familiar, because it was just what you had gone through after fleeing the village. So you told him he could stay here until he figured out where he needed to go, and he nodded and smiled at you, and he's been here ever since.

You've gotten into a little tentative routine by now. He normally doesn't wake up around dawn like you do, so in the mornings you have time for solitude and reflection, but then around midmorning you get breakfast going and haul him out of bed. You eat together and do chores, Dave makes lunch, and then you spend evenings together, just talking and getting to know each other, or sitting in the same room and reading, whatever. Evenings are relaxation time. You both make dinner and do the dishes afterwards, too. Evenings are growing to be your favorite part of the day, honestly.

With a short sigh you move on to the next row of plants. Time passes and you keep singing and pruning and thinking, as the sun climbs higher into the sky. Finally, you're done, and you stand and brush your hands off, letting the spell dissipate. It vanishes with a little shimmer around your fingers and a feeling like you've just put down something you've been carrying for a while, sort of like a bit of relief. You stretch and roll your shoulders, then head back inside.

Breakfast isn't too long after that—actual breakfast, that is, not the quick snack you had before going out into the garden earlier. You're pouring yourself a glass of fruit juice when Dave stumbles into the kitchen, still bleary-eyed from sleep.

"Good morning, sunshine!" you greet cheerfully. Wow, his hair is the epitome of bedhead. You kind of want to get up from your stool and smooth it down, but you feel like that might be kind of weird. Would that be weird? It would probably be weird. You refrain from getting up to touch his hair.

"Sunshine yourself," he grumbles, then looks around. "Where's the food?"

"Wow, getting straight down to business, are we?" you tease, then point at the other side of the counter. "There's some fried eggs and flatbread, plus I picked some apples this morning. We can make apple pie later! Oh, and I juiced some, so there's apple juice—"

"Apple juice?" Well, that caught his attention. You have to stifle a giggle at the way he perks up like a puppy that has suddenly gotten a whiff of some food.

"Apple juice," you repeat, nodding. "Pitcher's behind you, if you want some."

"Of course I want some." He's already turning around to see the pitcher, halfway full of golden liquid, before he even realizes he's not holding a glass, and twirls neatly on a dime to grab one from the dishrack. "It's _apple juice_ , Jade."

"It is," you agree. "Juice that comes from apples. I take it you like apple juice—yeah, okay, wow, you _really_ like apple juice," you start to laugh because he just downed that entire glass in one shot. And now he's pouring more. "Are you just going to drink juice for breakfast?"

"This isn't just juice," he pauses, the glass halfway to his lips, and looks at you. "This shit is like, the nectar of the elder gods or something. Apple juice is in a realm all its own, Jade."

You try to hold in a laugh—okay. That didn't work. You fail to hold in a laugh and instead try to hide a giggle behind your hand, but it's not like that works either, because you're _obviously_ laughing. Dave has a funny habit of making rambling connections to anything and everything, and he doesn't really have a filter, either. The end result is that you end up laughing at almost everything he says.

He looks at you with amusement curving his lips into a tiny grin as he leans back against the counter and takes a sip. "That funny to you? Okay, fine, if you don't believe me, that's cool. Just leaves more for me to drink."

"I didn't say I don't like it or don't want to drink it!" you quickly defend. He's not going to use his godly nectar phrasing to con you out of all your juice! "I think I just am not quite ... _I'm_ not the one of us who's planning to _marry_ it, that's all."

Dave laughs, splutters, chokes, and coughs, and you quickly jump up to thump his back. He rubs at his watering eyes and coughs again and looks at down you with raised eyebrows. "You're just gonna kill me instead, is that it?"

"If the alternative is you running away to elope with my apple juice? I might have to consider it!" you tease, hands on your hips, before you let your posture soften as you raise your eyebrows at him with slight concern. "You okay?"

He waves a hand dismissively and nods, blinking a few times to dispel the lingering wateriness in his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, no worries. I'm a knight, Jade, I've had worse."

Right. Knighthood. You somehow keep forgetting that he used to be a knight, because he's so _nice_ and you like him, even though you thought you hated everyone in the army. You don't like the idea of this laughing, joking and yet kindhearted boy as a warrior who kills people.

"Yeah," you say lamely, a second too late. "Well, go on, get your food, it'll be cold soon!"

He looks at you a bit strangely, but you quickly go back to eating your own meal and studiously avoid his gaze until the moment has passed. That's a conversation you are quite willing to have another day, or preferably never.

Instead, you'll just bring up what there is to do today, and how you're excited to practice some new spells from a book you've been reading, and that will hopefully distract him from the way you don't want to discuss the war, ever. And then you'll go outside and try to enchant things to drown your sorrows in magic, at least until you wear yourself out for the day. It sounds like a great plan to you!

* * *

Oh gosh, you are so, so tired right now. Not quite like just plain old sleepy tired, but more like 'I've-been-practicing-spells-all-day-and-I-just-want-to-curl-up-on-the-couch-with-some-tea' tired. The sun has just set and right now the forest is full of purple dusk—you can just barely see the mushrooms in and around your garden starting to glow—and it's lovely, if a bit warm and humid, so you take a moment to appreciate the stars that are just beginning to come out. Turning your face up to the sky you take a deep breath and slump against a tree trunk. Can you just stay here and not get up for several hours?

"Jade? You out here?"

That ... that would be Dave's voice. When you turn your head to look for him, you see him silhouetted in the warm light from the kitchen, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. He's probably wondering if you're coming inside yet, considering that you've been out here for hours and it's getting dark now and also maybe considering that instead of sitting inside with him like you usually do in the evenings, you're currently lying down against a tree. What can you say? Magic practice takes a lot out of a witch. Especially when she's trying new spells. How were you supposed to know they'd be so draining?

"Hi," you wave wearily, your arm dropping back down across your body with a thump. You frown at it, because it's still supposed to be in the air. Okay... you might have overtaxed yourself a bit too much... Internally you berate yourself for this because no, bad Jade, bad idea, you have to be more careful, because sooner or later Dave isn't going to be here, he'll leave because that's what everyone always does, and you'll have to be the only one taking care of yourself again, and that means you have to have the energy to stand up, but ...

You can't remember where you were going with this mental rant at yourself. You're tired. Have you mentioned that yet? You're really tired.

Dave takes a few steps outside until he's standing in front of you, frowning slightly. You give him your best bright and cheery grin. "Don't worry," you slur. "M'fine, really..."

"Who said I was worried?" he asks, and you blink. Does that mean he wasn't worried? Oh, duh. You're being dumb. Why would he worry about you? He's going to leave soon enough, everyone leaves you. He's just staying here until he gets on his feet again after leaving the army. They're still kind of looking for him, probably. Maybe. Is that how deserting works? You aren't sure. Do they keep looking for you? That's got to be a waste of resources. What do they even do when they find you after you desert? Do they just hang you? What's the point?

God dammit, you think you've just gotten off track again and zoned out. What's going on here?

Oh right. "Shit, that's not—actually, just forget I even said anything," Dave is saying, shaking his head quickly. Then he looks down at you with a frown. "...Jade. Did you even hear a word I just said?"

"No?" you blink. "Wait... sorry, what was the question?"

"Okay. Never mind.," he mutters, kneeling next to you. "That's it, you're coming inside and going to sleep now. Dear fucking god, Jade, you sure did a number on yourself."

The next thing you know, he's scooped you up and is carrying you back into your house and wait no you're not sleepy, you just want tea, and also to lie down and maybe sleep a little. Wait, that's what sleepy means. You whine and reach for the kettle as he carries you past the kitchen anyway, and he stops.

"What is it?"

"I want tea," you say plaintively, then look up at him. "Please?"

His tea-making skills leave a little to be desired, but it's really hard to mess tea up to the point of being undrinkable. You still can't believe he had never made tea before coming to your door, though. What do they teach people in Derse? Obviously not the right things.

"Fine," he sighs, going into the living room and setting you down on the couch. As he straightens and starts to head back to the kitchen, he pauses and then veers to the cabinets in the west wall and pulls out a small blanket throw and tosses it at you, then vanishes through the doorway again. You wrap the blanket around yourself happily and sink into the cushions.

This blanket is a nice blanket. It used to be Jake's, you remember. You like to pretend it still smells like him, even though you know it can't, it's been too long for that to be remotely possible. But as you tug it around yourself like an embrace, if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine he's still here with you.

In fact, Jake's there, just sitting on the other end of the couch, humming as he reads a book. You stretch your feet out and lay them across his lap, and he idly pats your ankle before turning the page. It's nice, and you sigh and relish the moment for a few breaths. It's so light and airy, and this room looks a lot more like the library in your old house than you'd ever really noticed before. "Jade," your brother says then, looking up, and you blink. What is it?

"Jade."

"Mmm?" you hum idly in response, not entirely paying attention because you're staring out the window into the bright sunshine.

"Hey, Jade."

"I'm right here, no need to keep saying Jade, Jade, Jade," you say, except your voice comes out a lot fuzzier and woozy than you thought it would. When you open your eyes, Jake's gone, your living room is too dark to be reading by, and it's small and dark and cozy, and looks nothing like the old library, and Dave is standing in front of you with a steaming cup of tea in his hands.

"Jade. You awake? Good. Here you go," he says, holding it out to you. "I made it with jasmine. You like jasmine best, right?"

"Oh." ... It was a dream. Disconsolate, you quietly take the cup. "Thanks, Dave. Jasmine is good."

He looks at you with pursed lips as though he's about to say something, but decides against it, instead just settling onto the couch next to you. "You're welcome."

You sit silently and blow on the steaming tea for a long moment, staring into the dark liquid and trying not to think about Jake. It's been—it's been a while since you dreamed of him. You _think_ about him a lot, sure, but dreams hurt way more. Suddenly you don't feel all warm and sleepy like you're being weighed down by molasses, you feel exhausted and drained like you've been swimming against a current all day. It's not a nice feeling. Tugging the blanket around yourself doesn't really help, either.

"When are you leaving?"

You're scarcely aware that you've asked the question, your voice low and quiet, until Dave answers, sounding kind of taken aback.

"I—uh, I don't know, whenever you want," he says, fumbling for words. You shrink into yourself and try to figure out how to tell him that that's the thing, you want him to just stay here like he has been, for over a month. You're so lonely, living in this cottage all by yourself. It feels like everyone hates you for something you can't control, and you don't like being alone. You _hate_ being alone. "I could leave tomorrow, if that's what you want—"

"No!" you jerk your head up and pin him with a look of wide-eyed horror. "No, don't—no, that's not what I meant. I'm—god, I'm sorry, Dave, I'm just too tired to think straight—I meant to ask if you _want_ to leave."

"Oh," he says, sounding contemplative. "Well, now, that's quite a different question."

"Yeah," you agree weakly, gazing into your cup again. That dream, short as it was, shook you to the core. You're exhausted, you need to just go to sleep. And yet you're stuck here, thinking about Dave, thinking about Jake ...

You wait for Dave's response with a bit of anxiety but mostly exhausted acceptance that he's probably going to say yes, he does want to go. You're pretty sure you'd be a lot more nervous if you weren't so bone-tired—maybe this is the silver lining of overdoing the spell practice. You're too exhausted to fret.

"Not really, no," he finally says. "If you want me to, I will, but ... honestly, I've got no plans, and it's not so bad, staying out here with you." He shrugs slightly, but you don't care because you kind of stopped listening after he said no, he doesn't want to leave you. He doesn't want to leave!

"Really? Oh, good! I'm glad," you sigh happily, sagging against the cushions. "I'm glad. I didn't want you to go, you know. I like having you around." Maybe you're babbling a bit because you are so tired, but it's okay. Babbling never hurt anyone, right? "It gets kind of lonely living out here all alone, and it's nice having another person, it's been _years_ since I've had a real, actual friend."

"Well, that's good to hear," he says with a little wry grin that tugs at your heart because it's the way a friend grins at a friend, and it's been so long since you've _had_ one of those, "because I kinda like being around too."

"That's ... that's good," you sigh, relaxing even further. You're exhausted and that's definitely catching up to you, though the sadness is at least draining away. It takes you a moment to realize that you just repeated what he said, though. "Wait, you just said that."

"I did," he agrees, seeming amused. You're sorely tempted to stick your tongue out at him, but in the interest of blowing on your steaming tea, you refrain. "You should go to bed soon, I think. Get some rest so you're not parroting me like a, uh, parrot."

You laugh softly, a breathy and kind of weak sound. That dream really got you down, didn't it? Hopefully he'll just attribute your seeming sadness to just being exhausted. You quickly find words before he can ask anything. "Maybe you need to go to bed too! That wasn't one of the usual long metaphorical rambles. What went wrong?"

"Maybe that was intentional," he shrugs. Good, he didn't notice any upsetness on your part. You're getting good at hiding it, even from yourself. After all, you're _fine_. "Maybe nothing went wrong. What then?"

"Then ..." you trail off, tapping one finger against your chin thoughtfully for a second before you shrug and drop it. "Then I'm too tired for this and concede that okay maybe it was intentional."

Dave grins triumphantly and then leans over and ruffles your hair. "Drink your tea and go to sleep," he instructs, and you laughingly comply.

* * *

 _AN: Yeah ... did I mention that this fic is alarmingly fluffy compared to my usual body of work? Because that's a thing. 0_o._

 _And here this chapter is, a day early because I'm going to be out of town a while! In fact I'll still be out of town next Friday, so you might have to wait til next Sunday for chapter three. (As I'm typing this I'm imagining the people who will read this when this note is no longer applicable because chapter three will already be out and they'll probs be like ok lol whatevs. ... Anyway.) So yeah, there's your heads-up there!_

 _There will be a semblance of a plot; you can probably see it sort of taking shape here, haha. :P But this fic should (HOPEFULLY) not get too long and complicated. :D_

 _Thanks for reading, and please drop a review - it's cheesy, but believe me when I say that reviews seriously are such good motivation to write! :)_


	3. Which Features Housework

Your name is Dave Strider, and it is hot as hell out here.

Well, okay, that's an exaggeration. Kinda. It's pretty warm but not too hot, like a nice moderate temperature, being mid-autumn and all, but you're just hot because you've been doing yardwork and the heavy lifting part of that, like moving fallen logs and shit around out of the garden. Jade said she could use magic to do it herself, but you figure you can do it without that, so why bother making her use spells and tire herself out, right?

With a grunt you pick up a thick limb that fell into the herb garden during the storm last night and heft it over your shoulder, carrying it with only a little difficulty over to the pile of wood that you'll chop up for firewood later. It's heavy, but not so heavy that you can't lift it.

You throw it down into the pile and dust your hands, breathing hard for a second as you roll your shoulders. Just about done with all this shit. Sweet.

"Dave!" Jade's voice rings out, clear and cheerful, and you turn to see her leaning out of the doorway to the house and waving. "Come inside and take a break, silly! You'll tire yourself out!"

You immediately start trotting to the shade of the porch and the coolness inside. Hell yes, breaks. You like breaks. You'll come back out and finish all this soon enough. It's a chore, but honestly you don't mind too much. Doing work around the house is like paying Jade back for mooching off her food and house and everything, and if you pay her back you don't feel like you owe her as much, which is good, because you _hate_ feeling indebted to people.

"Well, sure, if you really gotta insist like that," you tell her as the blissful feeling of cool air washes over you. Ahhh, yes, good. "Did you miss me that much? C'mon, Jade, I was only outside."

Jade laughs as she leads you inside to the kitchen table, where there's a bowl of washed berries awaiting the two of you. "Oh, yes, totally! I was just _so_ overcome with loneliness in here," she teases, eyes sparkling like diamonds, if diamonds are full of mischief and are also bright green. Maybe emeralds are better here. "What was I supposed to do without you, Dave? Live life like I did five months ago?"

"Well, shit, I could never you to do something like that," you shake your head solemnly, popping a raspberry into your mouth and then wincing. Tart. Not quite ripe, that one. Oh shit, that's sour. "I guess taking a break is what I've gotta do. It's the noble thing, you know. Knights can't leave ladies waiting on them or anything. It's not courteous."

"Not courteous," Jade repeats, her eyebrows raised and her hands on her hips before she breaks that stance to reach over and grab a strawberry for herself. "Is courteous what you would call eating every last cookie the 'lady' bakes in one day when they're _supposed_ to last the whole week?"

"The lady didn't tell me the cookies were supposed to last the week," you protest. Come the fuck on! She's _still_ on your case about that? That was almost a month ago!

"The lady thought that such a big jar of them would have implied they were meant for more than one day," she teases, her eyes dancing as she leans forward and playfully boops your nose to accentuate the words _one day_. "Or in Derse do you make that many cookies for one sitting?"

"It wasn't in one sitting," you correct, catching her hand and pushing it away from your face. "It was over the _course_ of an entire day, thank you. And yeah, in Derse, we're used to eating an actual sensible amount of cookies in one day, not rationing them to like a crumb a day til they're gone."

"What's a sensible amount of cookies for a day?" she asks as she nibbles on her strawberry. "I feel like it's got to be less than twenty."

"Less than twenty?" Okay. Uh, it probably is less than twenty for most people, but for a kid who grew up third in line for the throne? Hell, you got all the cookies you damn well wanted and none of the responsibilities that came with being an heir. Fuckin' perfect, man. Too bad your family was like _Dave stop dicking around and go be a knight_ and your past self was like _cool lemme go do that_. There are no unlimited cookies in the army.

There's also a lot of killing people and doing shit you don't want to do but have to do, noble's son or not. The army is not a nice place. You don't regret leaving.

Jade's looking at you a bit quizzically, and belatedly you realize that you sort of dropped the ball on conversation and were staring over her shoulder, zoned out for a minute. "Dave? Helloooo, you in there?"

"Huh—oh, yeah, totally. One hundred percent absolutely in here. I'm more in here than water is wet, which you might think is a whole fuckin' lot, but then—"

"Are you _sure_ about that?" Jade questions, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She's perched on the edge of the countertop, legs dangling and swinging back and forth as she selects another strawberry from the bowl. "Because I just mentioned the contents of that pitcher over there and you didn't even blink!"

You blink now, twisting around to see what pitcher she's pointing at. It's opaque, sitting innocuously on the cluttered table behind you. "What's in it?"

"Apple juice," she answers cheerfully, and like she's just uttered the magic words you whip around faster than an arrow fired from a longbow to eye the pitcher. Seriously, the army is a fucking _terrible_ place. They deprive everyone of delicacies and basic amenities, apple juice being both of those things, and you're already getting up to grab a glass from the cabinet.

"Jade English-Harley," you say as you pour some of that delicious, golden and beautiful elixir into your glass, "you are a fucking _angel_. Have I ever mentioned that?" Apple juice after a long afternoon of doing work and heavy lifting and shit. She's a godsend.

She giggles, hiding her face in her hands for a second before she pushes her hair back and tucs it behind her ears, looking at you. "I think you could stand to mention it more often," she quips merrily. When you turn around to face her, sipping this glass of heaven, her cheeks are a bit pink, but that's probably just from laughing or it being warm, and you're just reading into things.

You mean, she's cute, but you've only known her around four or five months. And you do like her a bit, you guess, but there's no way she's just blushing because you called her an angel because of the fact that she has apple juice. And—

Okay, you are thinking way too much into this. Just stop. It's hot and she's laughing and you're seeing things and you just need to stop.

You sit back down on the stool next to the countertop and sip your juice to make your brain shut up. Well, it doesn't shut up, it just stops focusing on Jade because _god damn_ you really love apple juice. It's so good. Not too sweet, not too bland, just fucking perfect. You love apple juice. Apple juice is—

"Enjoying your time with your girlfriend?" Jade teases, drawing you out of your reverie. You give her an offended look.

"Girlfriend? Jade, are you telling me you haven't been paying attention to either of us? Seriously? Come on, I thought we were _friends_ , but apparently not. If you were really in the loop with the two of us you'd know I proposed last week and I'm going to marry the apple juice in spring."

She tosses her head back and laughs brightly. "Oh my gosh, Dave. You're so silly!"

"You think I'm not serious," you shake your head with affected sadness. Looking soulfully into your glass, which is like half empty at this point, you say, "I'm sorry, babe. She just doesn't understand our love."

Jade is giggling again. You glance at her and flash her a quick grin before you shrug and down the rest of the juice with an air of "oh well, who gives a fuck".

"Dave!" she chastises. "Did you just drink your fiancée? She's gone now! What did you do that for? I thought you loved her!"

"Yeah, I do," you say. Then you get a terribly brilliant idea for an awful joke and smirk up at Jade, sitting on the edge of the counter. "I love her a lot. But Jade, she's not gone, she's just inside me, that's all. ... Feels nice, too—"

"Nooo, gross!" Jade cuts you off with a playful smack to the shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut as if to physically block out your gross joke. "Shut up and eat some fruit and stop that, you dork!"

You grin and reach over behind her to the bowl of raspberries, hoping to get a sweet one this time. Placing your new selection in your mouth, you're met with the satisfying flavor of a ripe berry, much better than that horribly sour one a minute ago. "As you wish, my lady," you say with a straight face. You called her your lady once out of habit a few weeks ago and she smacked you with a ladle and said that she was a _witch_ , not a _lady_. Ever since then, you've made a point of calling her your lady. She seems to have given up on correcting you. Also, there's no ladle in her hand this time.

"Good," she shakes her head reproachfully at you, but there's a look of fond exasperation on her face. You grin disarmingly, turning on the charm.

"C'mon, though, Jade, it was kinda funny, you've gotta admit."

"I don't have to admit anything!" she contradicts, laughing. "Except that you're _gross_!"

"I didn't ask you to admit that."

"No," she agrees, "you didn't. I'm just helpful like that and admit things anyway!"

"That's not what I'd call helpful," you frown at her. She gives you a bright smile, which is kind of disarmingly _cute_ (your grin, by contrast, is disarmingly handsome and roguish and charming or something like that) and just shrugs.

"So," she changes the subject then. "How's the yard work going? Do you need any help, or—"

"Actually," you say, before she can offer to go throw spells at the logs again, which she keeps doing, despite your repeated attempts to tell her that no you do not need her to throw spells at them when you can just pick them up off the ground and put them wherever they need to go, "I'm almost done with the wood. I can chop it up this evening or tomorrow, whichever works, too."

"Oh, wow, really?" she asks, her eyes widening a little bit. "You sure went and got that finished quickly!"

"Yeah," you drawl. "It's because when you just pick shit up instead of flinging magic around, you don't tire yourself out and need to just sit there and rest for the rest of the day. Moral of the story: you shouldn't—"

"Moral of the story," she interrupts, leaning over to ruffle your hair, "is that life is better when you hire a knight to do your housework for you!"

You duck away and frown at her as you toss your head to get your goddamn hair out of your face—you kind of need to cut it, honestly, it's getting long and annoying as fuck. "Oh, come on."

"What, come on?" she asks innocently. "It's true! You do all that for me, so I get to spend more time working on potionmaking and doing more fun things like spellcrafting and enchanting! The better the enchantments are, the better the prices we get for the stuff, too." A thought strikes her then, and she sits up a bit straighter as she looks at you. "You know," she says, "I was planning to go to market this weekend. But you're always asleep when I leave, so I never really asked if you want to come, but ... do you want to? In three days?"

You blink. Then you shrug. She goes to market like every other week or so to buy stuff that would be hard to get on your own out in the woods, like flour and sugar and whatever, but you haven't actually ever gone with her in all these five months. "Sure, why the hell not. How far is it, anyway?"

"About two hours at a brisk walk," she says with a dainty little shrug. "If we leave around dawn, we get there just as most shops start to open. That's the best time. No really long lines, and no tired angry buyers who yell at you. Also, the officers don't check things as hard in the mornings because they're half asleep, so it's more likely that we can sell enchanted goods!"

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," you comment. "The whole selling enchanted goods thing. Like, how does that work? Do these people _know_ they're buying enchanted shit, or what?" Not that it'd really bother you if they didn't, because money in your pocket is money in your pocket and that money can go towards getting you and Jade food and paying to send letters back home to Derse—something you really need to do. You just ... keep putting it off, the same way you kept putting off leaving Jade's place, until you decided that fuck it all you _weren't_ leaving. After all, it wasn't like you had anywhere else to be. May as well live with a new friend.

"Oh, of course!" Jade looks scandalized at the thought that they might _not_ know. "They all know me. Most of the people who buy my stuff are people who owe me favors, anyway. I heal their sick kids and all that. Most people in town like me, and I can always pay off regulator officers to look the other way because they don't hate me enough to arrest me because _they_ usually owe me favors too, or someone in their families does."

"Wow," you say, impressed, because she sure has this place under her thumb. "You've got this all figured out, huh?"

"Mostly," she shrugs nonchalantly, like it's no big deal. "Still, that's the extent of interacting with people I ever get," she adds quickly, as if she's anticipating the question you're about to ask—namely, _if you've got it all covered why do we live out in the middle of nowhere?_ "I mean... I don't know, it just seems safer to stay out here, with misdirection spells and things on the outside of the path so that when people leave they can't remember the way back. That way no one can lead anyone else straight to me—to us. Call me paranoid, but..."

She glances aside, at the portrait hanging over the fireplace. She does that a lot, you've noticed, whenever she trails off after talking about being paranoid or not wanting to be nearer to town or avoiding people in general. The portrait, she's told you, is of her brother Jake and herself and their grandfather. Gramps and Jake are both dead. But you don't know how they died, because Jade has never offered that story up and you've never really thought it was appropriate to ask. You can't deny your curiosity, though.

"Nah, it's cool," you shake your head and wave a hand dismissively. Yeah, you can't deny your curiosity, but you're not going to be a fucking dick about it. If she wants to tell you, she'll tell you. Otherwise, you'll only ask if it directly comes up or if some weird situation arises where you need to know. That's unlikely and probably will never happen, but until it does you're not gonna be like "oh hey Jade by the way this is a topic change but why is your family dead?" because you're not a goddamn asshole. ...At least not that much of one. "So, this weekend, we leave here around dawn or so and walk ... somewhere, I'll just follow you, and sell shit, and come home by dinnertime?"

"We should be home way before dinnertime," she says. "We can eat lunch in town and then walk back. But yes, that's the schedule! Think you'll be able to wake up before dawn?" She's looking at you again, not the portrait, and her eyes are sparkling with suppressed laughter. That's better than sad looks at dead family members. You approve of this change.

"Maybe," you shrug. It's true. Getting up early has never really been one of your strong points. "Maybe I'll just ... stay up all night instead."

"Oh no you won't!" she shoots that idea down immediately. "You do that and you'll be super tired by the time we even get into the market and set up our stall, never mind the actual selling and buying part! And then we'll go out to lunch and you'll fall asleep on the table or on me or something and that'll just be the saddest most pathetic thing a knight could do."

"You wound me, my lady," you immediately trot out the nickname again. "Obviouly the worst shit a knight can do is _desert_."

Jade opens her mouth, then closes it again. "Well," she starts, then stops, then shakes her head. "Okay, fine. Falling asleep at lunch with his ' _lady'_ is the second-worst thing, then. Because then," she suddenly gains confidence, as though she's bringing this conversation back to familiar territory, rather than the suddenly shaky ground you'd veered onto, "you'd be deserting her at dessert-time."

... Wow.

"Jade."

"Yes?"

You level your most unimpressed look ever at her. "That was like the shittiest pun you have ever made at me, I'm pretty sure."

She giggles as she takes a raspberry too, completely unabashed and shameless about her shitty-pun-making skills. "I'll have to try hard to outdo it later, then, won't I?"

"No," you say quickly. "It's fine. That can just be the height of your pun career. You're on the way back down now, no worries. You don't have to try to outdo it because you just can't. That'll never happen. That was the shittiest pun in all existence."

Jade narrows her eyes at you. "Was that a challenge?"

"Oh god," you groan. "God, no."

"I think it was a challenge!" she crows. You have a bad feeling about this, and shaking your head you grab a handful of strawberries and start to stand and walk out of the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Jade calls after you, leaning forward so precariously that for a second you worry she might fall and hit her head or something, except that you remember she'd just do the witchy thing where there's extra furniture wherever she needs it. Or whatever. You're not really clear on how it works. But you keep walking.

"To finish chopping firewood before you make another shitty pun at me," you call over your shoulder.

"Oh, no!" she cries, and you can _hear_ the stupid grin in her voice that means there's a shitty pun coming, all right. Better walk faster. "My noble knight is deserting me! Whatever shall I do?"

"Fuck off, _my lady_!"

As the door swings shut behind you and you step out into the hazy autumn sunshine, the sound of her bright and clear laughter echoes pleasantly in your ears.

* * *

 _AN: so... can I tell you guys a secret?_

 _... I haven't started writing chapter four._

 _[This surprises ABSOLUTELY NO ONE probably.]_

 _I'm still on vacation oops, I just found a spare moment to publish this one. Not sure when the next will be done, but I'm gonna tryyyy for next Friday and keep consistency sort of. (Emphasis on try.) It'll either be their market trip or a timeskip again, depending on whether I give up on trying to keep this story short ahahahaha... ._._

 _Anyway, thanks for reading and please drop a review! They make a sad author happier! :)_


	4. Which Details A Market Trip And Sorrows

Your name is Dave Strider, you're in the town market, and you're ... kind of nervous, to be perfectly honest.

It's the first time you've been in a town since you deserted, and while you know that yeah no one here would recognize you, you're still kind of on edge. All your instincts are screaming _avoid people avoid people avoid people_ , especially when you're near the Dersite border. The warfront is further to the east, but still. This is risky shit. This shit is riskier than a pile of poop at a casino.

"Dave?"

Jade's looking over at you kinda funny, her head cocked to one side and her eyebrows raised with something that you guess is a mixture of concern and curiosity. "You okay? You look kinda worried!"

"I'm fine," you brush her off, turning your attention back to the street and the people milling about in it, going from stall to stall. Some of them are your former customers; some of them are potential customers, too. And then some are jobless dweebs just wandering around being useless because they're not buying from you and Jade. "It's just, uh, hot out here."

"Oh, come on," she frowns at you. "I don't have to have visions to see right through that lie. What's bothering you?"

You're saved from having to answer by a young man who comes up to the front of your shared stall. Jade immediately puts on a bright smile and turns to attend him, eventually putting a few coins in the profit bag and handing over an enchanted pocketwatch in exchange. You gotta admit, you're kind of impressed by the girl's ability to sell her shit. People eat it up faster than ice cream on a hot day, which today admittedly is not.

Unfortunately for you, Jade hasn't forgotten what happened all of maybe thirty seconds ago, and immediately she turns right back to you. "So?"

You shake your head once, dismissive and suave and cool. You're fine. "It's nothing."

"Dave ..."

Fine. If she _really_ wants to know that bad, you'll just tell her. What's the worst that could happen, she laughs at you?

You stand up from the low stool and grab her wrist and tug her to the back of the stall, to the section that's hidden from the main street by a curtain. She follows, definitely concerned now, and when you drop her wrist she grabs your hands and squeezes them. It's kind of reassuring and nice, not that you're gonna admit _that_ anytime soon, but you kind of like having your hands held.

"It's that I'm irrationally afraid some goddamned person from my past or whatever is gonna turn up and recognize me and be like 'holy fuck it's the deserter princeling' and then they'll all want my head and probably yours too, and then everything will be shitty again and it'll be my fault because I agreed to come here and that was probably a fucking terrible idea, even though I won't be able to angst about that because I'll be fucking dead. Yeah, that's pretty much it."

It takes you a second to realize you called yourself a princeling. Shit. Please let her have missed that. Please.

"Dave," she sighs, barely audible over all the people noises from the market. "No one is going to notice you, and even if they do, we'll get out of here fine, okay?"

"Earth to Jade, I said _irrationally_ afraid," you scowl, nervousness translating into prickly rude snappishness. Luckily, she doesn't seem offended and just squeezes your hands.

"I know," she says, voice all soft and kind, and you would be surprised except that by now you've learned that she's honestly way too nice to everyone ever, "but what am I supposed to other than assure you it's okay? I can't offer irrational solutions."

"You could try," you grumble, and she laughs. Then, to your surprise, she hugs you, laying her cheek against your shoulder and giving you a tight squeeze for a second before she pulls back. You're almost sad to let go of her, because god _damn_ if that hug didn't feel real nice and comforting.

"C'mon," she smiles up at you. "We're nearly done! It's just about time to close up and go have lunch, okay? And then we'll go home."

Before you can reply she's ducked back into the stall proper, leaving you to your thoughts in the little private spot. You take a deep breath and run your hands through your hair, kind of frazzled. God. How does Jade stay so calm in the middle of all this? Witches are hunted too, if not _officially_ like deserters. It's more like everyone persecutes them even though they're technically allowed to exist, if they register with the government. But everyone _hates_ witches, for the most part.

You take another deep breath and square your shoulders, internally strapping a bit of figurative steel to your spine. Your name is Dave Strider, and you are a fucking former prince and knight of Derse, you have faced death and blood and horror, and you are _not_ scared of a goddamn market square.

(It's not the market square, really, but the idea that being seen in it might lead to you being dragged away from this new life with Jade and being given no life at all, which is a hell of a lot worse than a new life, that scares you, but you're going to pretend it's a dumbass market square because that's easier to ridicule and therefore overcome.)

You step out into the stall again and look around. The market street is full of people, but not that many of them are looking at your booth, and most of those are looking at Jade, not you. You don't recognize a single one. They probably don't recognize you, either. And even if they did, they'd have to have suitable reason to get a guard to arrest you, and by that time you and Jade could easily have gotten the fuck out of here. There's no need to worry. There's no need.

You're still on your guard, but you try to relax and just enjoy the goddamn day. It's nice and sunny but not actually hot, and there's a slight breeze coming from the west, and it's not humid, and under all other circumstances it'd be a fucking great autumn day.

Jade's talking to another customer, a little old lady this time. You tune into the conversation as you step forward, scooting back to your spot in front of your stool. It's cramped and as you get back up there your shoulder's brushing Jade's; you kind of think she might say something, but she doesn't even do a double take. She just looks up at you with a sunny smile and goes back to talking to the lady.

"Oh," said lady is saying. "Who's your friend, dear? Finally found yourself a husband?"

Jade laughs at that and to your surprise, loops her arm around your waist and draws you against her. "Not quite yet, but the wedding's planned for spring!" she says. You are about to intelligently say _huh?_ when she looks up at you and adds pointedly, "Right, darling?"

She's faking, for whatever reason. Okay. You decide to roll with it and ask questions later, and boy are you gonna fucking roll with it. You drape your arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze, pasting a cheesy-ass grin on your face. "Yeah," you say, kissing the top of her head for good measure. You think you catch the hint of a blush on her cheeks and have to stop yourself from grinning triumphantly. Hah. Serves her right for springing this on you out of the blue. You give the granny your most winsome smile. "She's not as excited as me."

"Lies!" Jade immediately retaliates, laughing. "Lies and slander, right there! I am _too_ just as excited!"

Granny The-Fuck-Is-Her-Name-Anyway smiles fondly at the two of you. "Well, Jade, I'm glad for you," she says. "Thank you for the charm. I'll see you next time you're in town, dear!"

Then she walks away, and you look down at Jade. "Right. What the fuck?"

"She's a regular," Jade shrugs. "And so now, this way, if someone ever _does_ pop up and accuse you, we have a cover story _and_ someone who believes it! And so as far as they would know, it might just be a coincidence that you look like someone they knew."

"Oh." That's ... actually really smart of her, you think, coming up with that little false scenario. Spreading rumors in a small town and all that. You mean, it does tie things up neatly. Even if it did put you on the spot for a minute. But hey, at least if you're kinda disgruntled and embarrassed about that, you're not grumpy and nervous. "I guess ... 'kay then."

"Mhm!" Jade flashes you a sunny smile and turns away, gathering up the few display items left. The clock tower starts to chime high noon as she puts them back into her bag—much lighter now than when you came here—and fastens the straps. You do the same with the coin purse and tablecloth and slip them into a pocket on the larger bag, which you then snatch up before she can.

"What kind of fiancé would I be," you say with your most charming smile, when she looks up at you with surprise, "lettin' you carry this thing around all day?"

"Oh, come on," she laughs. "You carried it all the way up here, too!"

"So?" You shrug nonchalantly, looking around to make sure you didn't leave anything. "Point still stands." It's not heavy at all anyway; it wasn't even that heavy this morning. You've carried more shit for longer distances, when you still were a knight.

Jade makes a little frustrated noise, then shakes her head. "I swear, there is _no_ point in arguing with you!"

You flash her a proud smirk. "Love ya too!" Then without waiting for her reply you start walking out of the booth, going a good ten or so paces down the sidewalk before you realize oh, right, you have no idea where the fuck you're going and Jade isn't next to you, she's back there closing up the booth. Well, that sure does put a damper on your plans and ability to go places, doesn't it? So you stop and turn, watching her unruly mass of dark hair bobbing through the milling throng as she darts around people to catch up to you.

"Jeez, Dave!" she scolds, no heat in her voice as she finally links her arm through yours, falling into step at your side. "I'm gonna lose you in the crowd at this rate! Thanks a lot for _waiting_."

"You're welcome," you answer, cavalier as ever. She lets out a cross between a laugh and indignant squawk and elbows your ribs, then just rolls her eyes and shakes her head at you. You offer her a grin and then ask, "So. Where are we going, betrothed dearest?"

"Oh my god, you're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Nope," you shrug. "You made your bed, now lie in it. ...But don't worry, I'll join you when we're married, and—"

"Dave!" Jade scolds, looking a little bit scandalized. "Shush!"

You figure you've probably traumatized her enough for now and desist, snickering to yourself. "Alright, alright, let's just go get some food already. We can discuss the wedding plans later."

She rolls her eyes, cheeks still a little pink, and laughs. "Yes, okay, let's just talk about something else, like lunchtime! And I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that. _Anyway._ There's this little café I always go to—I'm friends with the lady who owns it, you see—that's just down the street, it's usually kind of busy but the food is really good and it's not super pricey either. And then we can do the grocery shopping and head on home!"

"Sounds like a plan," you agree, and arm in arm the two of you stroll off into the crowd.

* * *

 _A few months later._

Holy fuckballs it is cold.

That's your first thought when you wake up, and then your second is _I'm a fucking idiot_ because you realize the reason it's so cold is that you left your window open all night and it snowed. Why did you leave your window open? A bit of stuffiness is _so much better_ than the cold, and seriously, what the fuck were you thinking? —Then again, you obviously _weren't_ thinking, if you forgot to close the damn thing.

You're so cold. It's so sad. Cold cold cold cold.

Leaving a window open in midwinter. You're an idiot. God.

It takes a good bit of effort to haul yourself out from under the blanket, where you're curled up into a pathetic little ball, but it's not warm enough and the thought of the fire blazing merrily in the kitchen is finally tempting enough to get your lazy ass out of bed. You slam the window shut, freshen up, and hurry downstairs to find Jade, but for once it seems like you might actually be awake earlier than her. Cool. That's what happens if you leave the goddamn window open all night. But there is no way in hell you're going back to bed, not in that room. It's a fucking freezer in there.

The fire is still hot—it's enchanted never to die down past embers, but also never to leave the hearth, which is a great idea—and you eagerly sit down on the stool in front of it, shivering still. It crackles all warm and invitingly and you find yourself starting to doze off again, just a little, which rings a few warning bells because hello yes you're balanced on a stool in front of a hearth, you really shouldn't be falling asleep in case you fall into the fire, too.

So you get up again with a sigh, and then ponder what there is to do. It's about eight in the morning—Jade probably will be up soon. May as well make some tea, you guess. And breakfast. It'll be a pleasant surprise for her.

But when she finally walks into the kitchen, it's with her head down and shoulders hunched, her entire demeanor very subdued and very wrong. She doesn't even notice you until you say kind of sharply, all concerned and shit, "Jade?"

She jerks her head up, eyes going wide for a second. "Oh—Dave! You're awake! I—I didn't realize!"

"Surprise, surprise. Yeah. Good morning. Are you okay?" you ask, cocking your head to one side. She looks like she didn't sleep too well—her body language practically screams _I'm tired as fuck_.

"Of course I'm okay!" she answers entirely too quickly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Jade." You level a skeptical glance in her direction before you remove the tea from the stove above the fire. "I have fucking eyes, and I can see you, you know. And ears. I can _hear_ you being all cagey about something. Like, look at you, there's these dark circles under your eyes that'd put the Obsidian Tower on Derse to shame, and that's a real—wait, wait, wait, hold the _fuck_ up," you break off, because in looking at her face and those dark smudges under her green eyes you noticed that those green eyes are kind of red and puffy and that there are _tear trails_ on her cheeks. "Were you crying?"

She opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking away. That's answer enough. You promptly forget about the tea—if it gets cold sitting in the pot, so be it—and walk around the table to her. She doesn't move away, which you're grateful for, as you take her hands.

"Hey," you say, and then realize you have no idea what to tell her. "Hey, look at me." You're making this up as you go, oh god. You're so bad at comforting people. But she looks up at you for a second, and just as you're about to say _shit I don't know what to tell you but I don't want you to be sad so please be okay_ , she drops her gaze and lets out this quiet, piteous wail and buries her face in your shoulder. You're left standing there awkwardly for a second before your arms remember oh yeah, the fucking obvious thing to do here is hold her, you dumbass, and then do that. When she's all snugly wrapped up against your chest, you rest your chin atop her head and rub her back kinda, not sure what to say. Finally you give up on words and figure you can just stand there and hold her.

She sniffles and takes a few deep, ragged breaths. Your concern is mounting, but you don't know where to start, so you just rub her back some more and hope that's good enough. You ... aren't sure if she's crying right now or not. You hope not, because you're even shittier at consoling crying people than you are at just comforting sad ones, but she's sniffling and clinging to you and you have a bad feeling about this.

But in the end your anxiety grows too strong and you have to break the silence. "What's wrong?" you ask quietly, running a hand gently through her hair. That seems to relax her a little, so you do it again.

Jade lets out a slow breath. "I ... had a bad dream," she says after a long moment. "About—about the day Jake and Grandpa died." Jake's her brother, the one she tells you stories about all the time. Their grandfather makes an appearance in some of these stories, too; apparently he was some sort of adventurer dude who had all sorts of cool stories to tell himself. You never really did find out what happened to him and Jake; Jade never said anything past "the war", and you never were enough of an asshole to ask.

But now... you kind of have to ask, right? You can't help her stop being sad if you don't know what she's sad about.

Then again, asking her to talk about it might really be a dick move. Especially when she's visibly upset about it. If you're gonna ask her, you should wait til she's more ready to say something, shouldn't you?

You're saved from the horrors of the deliberation process when she adds in a voice so soft you almost can't hear, "That was also the day I had to leave my old village. It—it was horrible."

"What happened?" you murmur, almost holding your breath. "I mean—if you don't wanna tell me that's cool, don't feel like you have to—"

"No, I want to," Jade cuts you off quietly. "If we're gonna be best friends and all, you should know." She takes a deep breath herself as if to steel herself. Then, pressing herself closer to you, she lifts her head.

"A bunch of us were caught in the crossfire when the front line crossed through town," she says, her voice shaky but firm, as if she's too stubborn to let herself break down midsentence. "We tried to run. Grandpa—Grandpa didn't make it out when a building collapsed, because he was making sure me and Jake and the friends we were with got out first. And then Jake—he—he took a sword to save me. And my friend and I were running and there were so many arrows and they were going to hit her, so I—I used a spell to shield her, but then she told someone the next day and everyone freaked out because I was a witch, and they said I'd go the same way as Jake and Grandpa if I didn't leave. So I left. And I came here, and I've been here since then."

Story told, she buries her face in your neck and falls silent again, her body shaking with silent tears. You let out a breath hissed through your teeth. _Damn._ What a thing to have a nightmare about, must be great first thing in the morning.

"God, Jade," you finally say. "God. I'm sorry. That's fucking horrible and I'm really, really sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," she laughs humorlessly, a sad sound. "You weren't there, it's not your fault. You didn't do anything."

"No, I didn't, but I probably should have," you mutter. "I just didn't _think_ and I was an idiot. But this isn't about that—no, stop that, don't give me that look," you frown as she blinks up at you curiously. "I'll tell you later today, okay?" If you're all spilling shit from the depths of your pasts, you figure you gotta tell her about the whole prince thing. You did tell her you came from a noble family that you just wanted to leave behind, which wasn't a lie... it just wasn't the total truth, either. But you'll take care of that later. "Just—for now, how's this sound. We'll drink tea and have breakfast and then ... shit, what is there to do right now..."

"We could go play in the snow," she suggests, bright-eyed. You aren't sure if those are tears again or if she just really wants to play in the snow.

"Ugh, really," you sigh. "That's like, for twelve-year-olds, not—oh, god, you're giving me the sad eyes, stop that, stop—dammit, Jade! Okay, fine, we'll go play in the goddamn snow. Happy? And then we'll come in and have hot cocoa and like, cling at each other for warmth because it's fucking _freezing_ out there. Sound good?" The idea is, you're gonna be with her all day and not leave her alone to get distracted by upsetting thoughts. She might catch onto your scheme, but you don't particularly care, so long as it's successful. Even if you do have to go play in the snow. Which ... actually doesn't sound so bad. You're just complaining for complaining's sake.

"Sounds good," she affirms, but doesn't pull away. She just lays her head on your shoulder again and sighs softly, her fingers lightly drumming against your upper arm for a moment. Then she lifts her head and looks up at you, gives you a wan little smile, and kisses your cheek. "Thanks, Dave."

"No prob," you give her a tiny smile back, hoping you're not blushing because of that kiss. Damn your paleness. This is not the time to be thinking about the fact that you might be falling for her, by which you mean you might already be well and truly fucked. It's not like the constant _when we get married_ jokes you keep making help, either, but you can pretend, right? And they usually make her laugh. Speaking of which, you may as well try one now. "Anything for my beloved fiancée, yeah?"

True to form, that elicits a little giggle. "You are such a dork," she says affectionately, giving you a squeeze. "Love you."

"Love you too," you say, a little surprised but willing to roll with it. It's been a while since she's had someone around to love, obviously, based on what she just told you. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't love her too, because she's a really good friend and the past ten months have actually been pretty great. So yeah, you love her too, you think as you let her go and step back a little. "Now hurry up and drink your tea, we have a snowball fight to start already."

She gives you that tiny half-smile again. "Yes, yes, except it's kind of hot right now, you know."

" _Fine_ ," you drag out the word dramatically. "I guess we can make breakfast in the meantime."

"Good idea," Jade agrees, a bit of the sparkle starting to return to her eyes. "More time for the snowman if we do that now!"

She turns and goes to get a pan from the cabinet, and as she puts it over the fire and cracks the eggs, you just look at her for a long moment. She already looks less upset, and not in the monotone "not upset but not good either" way that comes with hiding it. No, she's feeling more okay already. She's a fighter, your Jade. She'll be okay. The thought makes you feel better too. And who knows? Maybe the day out in the snow might be fun after all.

* * *

 _AN: WHOOPS well at least I warned you I hadn't written this chapter? ._. sorry guys!_

 _Anyway, a good bit late, here's chapter 4! It's about a thousand words longer than usual if that makes up for the wait in any way :P_

 _And guess what! I haven't started chapter 5. Sooo...we'll see on that one. I'm really hoping I'll be able to come up with a semblance of a schedule again, though I'll be doing some traveling next week so I'm not too sure how much writing I'll get done..._

 _Thanks for reading! :) Please review!_


	5. In Which Dave Is Revealed To Be A Prince

Your name is Jade Harley and you are, as your beloved and late brother would say, "really quite all tuckered out". Snow days ... oh, you haven't had fun in winter in the last three years, not since you were fourteen and had to start living on your own. Today was _wonderful!_ You made snow angels, built a few snowmen, had a proper snowball fight—Dave is good, _really_ good, but your aim is on par with his dodging skills—and now you're finally back inside, trying to get warm again. Currently, you're all huddled up with Dave on the tiny, patched couch in the sitting room. You drink the last of your hot chocolate and reluctantly lean forward, away from his warmth, to put the mug on the table next to his, and then quickly snuggle back against him and pull the blanket up over your shoulders.

"Hey," he frowns, pulling it back down over his legs. "No fair. I'm a goddamn ice cube over here, too."

"But I'm so _cold_ ," you say, looking up at him pitifully. He doesn't look like he's gonna fall for the puppy eyes, though, and you're rapidly losing the ability to keep from laughing at how skeptical and deadpan he is, but then he huffs out a sigh.

"Oh my fucking god, fine," he relents. "Take the blanket. It's not like I need it too or anything. What the hell."

You can't help but giggle as you scoot in closer, laying your head on his shoulder. Wait—if you just lay your legs across his lap, like this, and nestle yourself close against his chest, the blanket doesn't have any gaps around either of you because you're not on one side of him anymore! Perfect. You glance up at him and see his cheeks and nose are bright red. Is he still that cold? Aw, poor Dave!

"Or... or do that, I guess, why not," he says. "Sure."

"I am good at improvising new solutions," you say, nodding to yourself. Dave snorts and settles his arms around you, letting silence fall for a little bit.

You close your eyes and lean against him, listening to the crackling of the fire and trying to thaw your hands by clasping them together in your lap. It's only a little bit effective, sadly. Dave leans his cheek against your hair and lets out a sigh as you open your eyes and glance up at him fondly again, seeing the hint of a little smile. He looks so peaceful right now...

Well, you have a brilliant idea as to how to disrupt that. And you only feel a little bad about it!

Shifting in his arms, you fidget with your cold hands for a second longer, and then make as if to slide an arm around him. Instead, you slip your hand under his shirt, against his bare, warm skin—

The sound he makes can best be described as a strangled _shriek_ that rapidly turns into a string of swears as he shoves you away and you nearly roll off the couch, you're laughing so hard. As it is, you get all tangled up in the blanket and the sight of his crossed arms and frowny face is enough to send you into a whole new fit of the giggles.

"Wow," you manage after a second. "Wow, Dave, I never knew your voice could go that high—"

He lunges for you without warning and grabs you around the waist as you squeal and try to shake him off, and returns the favor with a cold hand on your lower back that makes you yelp. You grab his wrist and push him away, laughing breathlessly as he grins down at you. "We even?" he asks.

"Even," you say, trying to catch your breath as you lay there on your back and giggle some more every time you think about that shriek.

Dave leans over and grabs the blanket you're on top of, yanking it back towards him. "You've lost your cuddling privileges," he informs you, wrapping it around his shoulders. "It must suck to be you, all alone out there in the cold with only—"

"Only all the rest of the hot chocolate in the pot," you agree with affected sympathy, and then laugh at his incredulous expression.

"Oh, _hell_ no. You're leaving half that shit for me," he frowns at you. You sit up and scoot closer again, regrettably not under the blanket this time, and grin cheerfully at him.

"I _would_ ," you say with an innocent shrug, "but you're not leaving me half the blanket! It's only fair, Dave."

He opens his mouth, thinks better of what he was about to say, and closes it again. "You, my lady," he says instead, "are a manipulative little shit." Then he peels the blanket from around himself and holds out his arms. "Get your exploitative ass over here and don't drink all my hot chocolate, then."

You gleefully clasp your hands together and chirp "Yay!" before you comply, more than happy to settle back down against his chest. He has the ends of the blanket in his hands and wraps his arms around you as you curl up between his legs, and you innocently snake one arm around his waist again.

"Don't even think about it, or I'm breaking off the fuckin' engagement," he warns sardonically.

"I wasn't gonna do anything!" you protest, laughing. The engagement. He is _never_ going to stop joking about that, you're sure of it! You mean, it was a pretty impromptu idea and all, but you never thought that even months later it'd be a joke. But... knowing Dave, you should've expected it. Honestly.

Not that you mind, though. You think you'd be more than okay with marrying him. Sure, you've known him for less than a year, but he's not planning to leave you and you do love him a lot. And it's almost been a year, anyway. Grandpa always said that if anyone wanted to marry his little girl, there had to be a good long honorable courtship period, but... then again, Grandpa's not exactly here, now, is he?

And with that you're thinking about the nightmare-memory-flashback from this morning. Not a very pleasant reverie. You find yourself biting your lip and curling in on yourself a bit tighter. Dave notices.

"You that cold?" he asks wryly. You ... don't know what to say. Do you just say _yeah, it's the cold, no big deal_ and try to hide it again? He didn't buy it this morning, but you didn't realize he was awake and you weren't trying to hide it this morning. But then again, you don't know if you _want_ to go with your first instinct of hiding everything.

Apparently, taking forever to respond is a point that goes against the whole hiding stuff idea, because Dave shifts his arms around you, sliding one hand up to your chin to tip your head up so he can see you.

"Hey," he says, a hint of a concerned furrow in his brow. "Are you okay?"

You take a deep breath. "Just... just thinking about what I was thinking about this morning," you answer kind of timidly. Dave's concern seems to grow as he lets out a little _ah_ and kind of awkwardly pulls you closer, letting you lay your head against his shoulder again. He leans back against the couch and hesitates for a moment, and then presses a kiss into your damp-from-melted-snow hair.

"Well, uh... if you wanna talk about it or, or anything, I'm here, okay?" he says. You can't help but smile, albeit a kind of wan smile, as you nod. It's... it's so _nice_ , having someone around to care for you on these days. You could get used to this. You're a little scared to admit how important he's become to you, but you could definitely get used to this.

"I kind of want to stop thinking about it, honestly," you answer truthfully, the hand not wrapped around his waist coming up to rest on his shoulder. Your fingers trail down his sleeve and wrap around his upper arm, pulling him a little closer. He gets the message and holds you a bit tighter, and you try to remember if you've felt safe and secure and away from your inner demons like this, ever. Definitely not before he came along. Maybe when you were with Grandpa and Jake, but you didn't have this may problems, then.

"Okay," he says. "Uhhh... shit, what's something we could talk about..." He trails off, presumably to rack his brain for a topic. You run your index finger over the stitched patterns in the shirt he's wearing. It's one you bought for him at market a while ago, as soon as it was decided he'd stay, so he wouldn't have to keep using Jake's old things—you have to say, you hated lending even those few shirts and trousers out. Jake's clothes, the few that you salvaged from your old home before fleeing, are _Jake's_ clothes, not anyone else's. Not even Dave, despite how much you love him.

You trace an embroidered spiral around his collarbone, following the design up to his shoulder, where it disappears around his neck. Then you trace your way back down, until your own head resting against his chest gets in the way. When you look up, he's regarding you with a little fond smile and something you can't quite place. He leans down and kisses your forehead. Then he goes kind of pink in the face and looks away, clearing his throat, but you smile at him and stretch up to peck his cheek.

"Thanks," you murmur.

"For what?" he asks, raising one eyebrow to give you this elegant, aloof, and kind of coolly disinterested expression. You wonder if it looks so practiced because he used it a lot when he was living in Derse, part of that noble family he said he wanted to get away from. He seems to realize he's giving you that look and apparently he doesn't mean to, because it shifts to a more open, inquisitively friendly one. You don't pay that much heed though, instead starting up your embroidery tracing again.

"Being here," you say simply. "It's really nice, not being alone anymore. And, for trying to make me feel better. It means a lot."

The hand resting on your lower back moves to catch your hand and hold it, over his heart. "Whoa, I haven't even actually done anything yet," he says. Then he goes quiet and gives you this funny look. You can almost _see_ the cogs in his mind turning and turning and turning. "So ... you've been dealing with this shit all alone for all these years, huh." He sounds ... almost sad.

You don't want him to be sad, especially not on your account! "Yeah, but I mean—it isn't _that_ bad," you say hastily. "I just complain about it, but it's fine, really, don't worry—"

"Jade," he cuts you off quietly. You fall silent, and he squeezes your hand comfortingly. "Well, you ... you don't have to deal with it on your own any more, okay? I'll be here from here on out."

You give him a grateful smile for not trying to make you admit to how horrible your last three winters have been. And for promising to be here for you from now onwards. "Thanks," you say again.

"Oh, hey, I have something I could tell you about," he suddenly says. "Remember how I said I'd tell you about it this morning?"

Your curiosity is piqued once again, and you eagerly latch onto a new thought instead of the old. "Yeah? What was it?"

"Weeeell... remember how I said my family's a bunch of rich-ass nobles back in Derse?" He sounds almost sheepish, and you meet his eyes with wide ones of your own. Was that not true? He lied to you? "That was true," he says quickly, "but it wasn't... the entire truth. I kind of just wanted to forget the entire truth, for a while."

Here he hesitates, so you gently prod, "What is it?"

He takes a breath and squares his shoulders a bit, and you rub his back soothingly. It's a little awkward because your hand is more or less trapped between his back and the cushions, but you make it work. "I wasn't just from some random fuckin' noble family or other. I kinda was ... third in line for the throne."

It clicks in your brain pretty easily. All those visions of Dave in a grand obsidian palace suddenly make _so much more sense._

"Oh," you say.

"Oh?" he repeats kind of nervously. "Uh... you're not... mad that I didn't tell you, are you?"

"What? No, no!" You shake your head quickly. "If you were a prince, why were you on the battlefield?"

He huffs out a not-very-amused laugh. "Jade, I was _third_ in line. You think I fucking mattered? It's all about the heir and the spare. Me and Rose—Rose is my younger sister by the way, we're twins but I'm older—weren't really necessary. I'm pretty sure we were probably accidents. And yeah, it's nice getting all the shit you ever want without having to worry about the responsibility of getting the throne later, but... I gotta admit, it's rough. It's really shitty, actually, knowing that your parents literally care about your older brother and sister more than you. And they say that to your face. And I just got so fed up that they were like okay Dave, since you're gonna act like a fuckface and not care about etiquette and rules, we're packing you off to win the royal house some glory on the warfront!" He stops, drops his gaze, and shakes his head slightly, scoffing. "As if the warfront has any fucking glory at all."

"It doesn't," you agree, and then because you have no idea what to say to that, you just squeeze his hand and press him close and nestle your head back against his shoulder. "If it's any consolation... _I_ think you're wonderful."

He gives you a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Do you miss them?" you ask quietly.

Dave ponders that a second. "Kind of. Mostly Rose. Sometimes Roxy. Rarely Dirk. He and I never really saw eye to eye, y'know?" He pauses, and his face darkens a bit. "I don't miss my parents. Fuck them, honestly."

The idea of hating members of your own family is very foreign to you. You loved Grandpa and Jake with all your heart. You loved Jane and John too, when they were there—they were family on your dead mother's side, but they moved away when the war started getting close. Grandpa said he didn't want to go. The village was where he was born, and it was where he would stay. But you think Dave has the right to dislike his family, if they really told him he wasn't worth as much as his siblings. "I guess... that makes sense, yeah," you say.

He shrugs slightly. "Yeah. I thought about writing to her—Rose, I mean—but... I'm a fucking deserter now. That's punishable by death. And I don't want to get her in trouble by association if she gets caught with a letter from me or something."

A thought strikes you. "There are ... other manners of communication," you say a bit hesitantly. "Magic ones, I mean. I could ... get in touch with her for you, without letters, if you wanted."

"You could?" He sounds totally surprised. "Shit, I keep forgetting you know all these spells. Like, it literally never would have occurred to me that there are spells for long-distance communication. How the hell does that even work?"

"It just takes two reflective surfaces, one on either end," you explain. "And then it's a bit like scrying! The only hard thing will be getting her to know how to scry us back, but I think we could manage."

Dave runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath. "I dunno," he says. "I'll... I'll think about it."

"Okay!" you give him a quick smile. "If you want to, just let me know, okay?"

"Yeah," he says. "I'll do that."

Silence falls again, quiet and still but not awkward. It's full of the warmth seeping back into your bones and the crackling of the fire and Dave's heartbeat, under your clasped hands. You catch yourself smiling a little. Yes, you're sad for Grandpa and for Jake. But right now, with your little cottage in the depths of the forest that's not empty for the first time in your _life_ , your heart feels happy and full and golden.

Dave shifts then, sitting up a bit straighter and looking down at you. "Well," he says. "Now that that _wonderful_ spill-your-emotional-guts session is over, wanna pick our way through these sad, sob story inducing entrails and go finish the hot chocolate? And hell, the leftovers from breakfast, too?"

You wrinkle your nose. "I like how you combine a metaphor about _entrails_ with a sentence about getting food," you complain, teasingly. It's kind of gross, but you don't really mind _that_ much. "But yes."

"Awesome. We can play the floor is lava, but with gross emotional guts instead. Don't step in the kidneys, Jade," he adds as you start to get up. You stare at him a second and then droop back into his lap.

"Oh no, the kidneys! I don't trust myself on that floor," you say, striking a pose with your hand dramatically flung across your forehead as if you feel faint. "Noble knight, save me!"

"Well shit," he says, amused, as he gathers you into his arms and stands, the blanket draped around his shoulders like a precarious cape. "You can't go around fainting on me at the sight of teary blood, my lady. What are we gonna do when we're married and—"

"If you finish that with something about the marriage bed," you warn, "I _will_ hit you with that pillow over there."

"What a threat," he deadpans, and you can't help but giggle. "How're you gonna get the pillow when your feet aren't touching the ground?"

"Magic," you answer, grinning triumphantly when he rolls his eyes. "You forgot about the random spells for everything again, didn't you?"

"I don't have to tell you a goddamn thing."

"That is _so_ a yes."

He sets you down on the kitchen counter and grabs two clean mugs. "Maybe."

You hop down and duck under his arm to lift up the spelled pot that's been keeping the hot chocolate warm all this time so you can pour it into them both, and then put it down and hand him one. "Here. I think that's a yes."

Dave doesn't answer, taking a dramatically exaggerated swig of his hot chocolate. You nod to yourself and sip yours too, giving him a little smile when he glances at you and you catch his gaze. Sitting down on the stool, you let out a satisfied sigh as you think about the snowmen outside, about the remnants of the snowball fight still slowly dripping out of your coat and boots, about the icicles lining the edges of the house. Dave leans against the counter across from you, the blanket still clinging to his shoulders.

"Nice cape," you tell him, and he grins.

"It's the best fucking cape in the entire world," he tells you with a nod, tugging it up and over his arms so it's less likely to fall. "So damn majestic."

You laugh. "I don't know how my eyes are even handling all this majesty! It's too much!"

He tips the mug in your direction and takes another swig. "You must be special. But then, 'course you are. We wouldn't be engaged, otherwise."

"Aw, that was actually kinda sweet! I'm surprised!" you joke.

"What, do you think I'm some kind of asshole? Damn, do I have to court you like a cultured gentleman or something? I thought we were already betrothed. Fine, okay, I'll do that. Sweeter than the most saccharine extract from sugarcane and a pot of caramel combined."

"Wow," you say. "That's really sweet." What does he mean by courting you...? This whole engagement thing is a joke, right? ...Not that you'd ... _mind_ a courtship, really. Quite the opposite. The thought makes your heart do these little excited flutters.

"I know," he says with a little smirk, nodding at you. "Buckle up and hold on to your saddle, my lady, and get ready for the courtship of your life."

You laugh. "Oh," you tease, "I can't wait!"

* * *

 _AN: Woooo I got my writing muse back! Expect more regular updates, especially now that I've settled in for college life._

 _Now question for you reviewers (pls review :D): There are two routes this story can take from here. Do you want the kind of angsty one or the pure fluff one? (To clarify: The angstier version is longer and more plotty, while the fluffy one is gonna be just the short cute romance that'll probably be done in another fiveish chapters. So if you want to know more backstory and what happened to Jane and John and etc, that'd be in the angstier version. Else, we can keep it short n sweet!)_

 _Thanks for reading! You're the best!_


	6. Wherein Jade Has Night Terrors

_Warning for dark themes. (Blood, death, war, etc.)_

* * *

 _A few months later..._

"Jade!"

You're given only a second's warning before someone behind you seizes your arms and spins you around to grasp your hands, more or less dragging your startled form into the center of the market square and all the dancers there. Jake's grinning ear-to-ear and you're laughing as you try to get your feet back under you, stumbling as he doesn't give you too much time to adjust to the fast-paced steps.

"Jake!" you scold, playfully, because you're not actually annoyed at him and you know he'd never let you fall. "You're supposed to _ask_ me to dance!"

"And you'd have said yes anyway, so what's the point?" He gives you his characteristic devil-may-care grin—the one that has more than one girl (and boy!) swooning, even though he's oblivious to it all—and lifts you for a second, executing a perfect turn as you let out a whoop and try not to lose your hat. "Besides, I wanted a partner who wouldn't step on my poor, beleaguered feet."

Of course, you are more or less required to step on his foot after that. It's sibling law! That's how this works! But you take pity on him and don't put your full weight on him for long. He adopts a wounded look and at the next swell of music, dips you over his arm without warning—seriously! No warnings at all today!—for his revenge. You yelp and clutch his shoulders and in the process, you do lose your hat, and dive after it because that's your _favorite_ hat and you don't want it to get trampled in the middle of the midsummer's festival!

"Jade!" Jake dives after you just as you grab the ribbon and pull it back towards you, barely avoiding getting kicked in the head twice or thrice. He hauls you back to your feet and with one arm around your waist, wags his other finger in your face. "Be _careful_! Or you'll get squashed flatter than a pancake, in the midst of all this bother!"

You stick your tongue out at him. "Then don't make me drop my hat!" Honestly. Mister protective big brother here. You're _fine_! Just for good measure, you step on his foot again. He rolls his eyes, and you laugh.

And then everything goes blurry and reforms and he's still holding you close, but no one's dancing and the sky is darkened with smoke. Your laughter dies in your throat. You choke and cough and he thumps your back, drawing you closer into his body as if he can shield you from everything by withdrawing further into the alleyway as soldiers march past, all with drawn swords. Some of them are red and you nearly throw up, except you know you have to stay still and quiet so they don't notice you.

Somehow time speeds by and you're sneaking away as quietly as you can, hand in hand with Jake. Grandpa's gone. You're not sure how you know that exactly, but you can feel it in your bones—oh. Oh. That's right, the burning building that collapsed, the beam that he pushed you and Jake out of the way of, the—yeah. Grandpa's gone. The back alleys and streets of your hometown are eerily haunted by distant screams from the main road. The smell of smoke is everywhere.

"Well, well, well. What have we _here_?"

Your blood runs cold as you hear a sword being unsheathed. A soldier just turned the corner in front of you. There's nowhere to run except back, and back is a terrible place. Jake squeezes your hand so hard it hurts

"Going somewhere?" the armored monster repeats, hefting the blade. It's red. You wonder what horrible things a person has to go through to get that leer, the _enjoyment_ in the fear of other people. There's a deep-seated pit of terror in your stomach. Your legs feel like jelly as you shrink back, behind Jake. He lets go of your hand to put a protective arm in front of you.

"Let us go," he demands.

"And _why_ should I do that?" The soldier lurches forward a bit. Is he _drunk?_ You think he might be drunk. Maybe that explains the look on his face, like he's relishing the panic and fear and horror. Maybe. You don't think anything should excuse that, though. Oh god oh god you're going to die you're so afraid right now, neither you nor Jake knows anything about fighting—

"Let us _go_ ," Jake repeats, more emphatically. "Get out of our way, and we won't give you any trouble."

The man's eyes under his helmet slide from Jake to you, eyes sweeping you slowly from head to toe. "I could let _one_ of you go. Leave her here, boy, and I'll give you a fifteen minute head start, even. Should be long enough."

Jake stiffens and steps in front of you fully, putting himself between the soldier and you. "She's _fourteen_ , you sick fuckwad!" he snarls. "Have you no fucking decency whatsoever? You all prattle on about fighting for some big grand ideal and yet when it comes down to it, you're a sad, pathetic lot of scumbags, every last one of you!"

"Well, now, that's rich," the soldier starts, snapping upright with a menacing look. "You wanna defend your words, pretty boy?"

Jake glances back at you. "Jade," he whispers. "Get ready to run."

"What—" you start, but he cuts you off.

"I'll be right behind you," he promises. Your heart lurches and your panic increases tenfold because that's what Grandpa said right before—right—

"I love you!" you whisper desperately.

"I love you too," he breathes, edging backwards as the soldier, now babbling about the greatness of the Dersite army and something you don't want to hear. Jake's pushing you with him, towards the far wall of the alleyway, and you can see a pile of debris and crates you could use to climb up onto the rooftops. "Ready," he whispers as your back touches the wall, "and GO!"

You duck and start sprinting. Jake's right behind you, he's behind you, he is, but you hear a sharp yell and the soldier's running too, and—

A hand shoves your back forward. You recognize it as Jake's just as you grab the edge of one of the crates and precariously scramble up on top of it, clambering to the top as fast as you can and turning around to offer a hand to Jake—

"No!" you scream, horrorstruck and wide-eyed. He's on the dusty ground, kneeling, wide-eyed just like you, but there's a sword sticking straight through his body, from his back out his middle. The man who wields the sword is standing behind him. You scream again, your voice tearing itself from your throat with enough vehemence that it hurts. " _No!_ "

"J—jade," he gasps—you can hardly hear him, and then his voice breaks into a pained keen that dissolves into a bloody cough. The soldier behind him smirks and pulls the sword out and there's a horrible squelching sound, or maybe that's your imagination, you don't know, but the fountain of blood and the armored boot that collides with your brother's side aren't imagined by any stretch, and neither are his cries as the damn soldier keeps kicking him, kicking him and—

"FUCK YOU! LEAVE HIM ALONE!" you scream, tears streaming down your face as you scrabble around the damaged rooftop for something, anything, and come up with some ceramic roof tiles you throw as hard as you can. They hit the soldier's helmet and he whips around and snarls at you and you freeze with fear as he storms toward your pile of rubble, and with the heaviest heart in the world you know what you have to do—you scramble to do it in time, but just barely before the monster can get to you you've shoved the top crate away from the cracked wall and the whole pile goes cascading down, along with any chance you had to get back to Jake, and then—

—and then—

And then you wake up, tears clogging your throat as you fly out of bed with a gasp that's far too loud in the oppressive silence of your home.

It takes you a minute to realize where you are, just like it does every time you have one of these dreams. It's dark, save for the dappled moonlight streaming in through your window—you hate closing the curtains. It's _too_ dark if you do that—and throughout the cottage you can't hear anything, just the occasional sound of the wind in the trees outside or the faint hooting of the owls. Normal nighttime in the forest, then.

You draw your blankets around yourself, pull your knees up to your chest, bury your face in your hands, and choke on a sob. It's been _almost four years_ and this still haunts you from time to time. You think you might be getting closer to getting over it, but every month or so you still wake up from one of these awful nightmare-flashbacks—you can't just call them nightmares, not when they're so vivid that they're like reliving that day—and no remedy or spell you've found has worked to get rid of them.

"Jake," you sob, voice cracking. "Jake—oh, god, Jake," and the tears fall easily, like a downpour just started above your head. "Jake, Jake, Jake."

What you wouldn't give, what you wouldn't give to just have him here so you could fling your arms around him and breathe in his scent and feel his arms around you and know he's okay. What you wouldn't give to see him again, to cling to him and tell him you love him. Oh, god, _Jake_...

"I miss you," you whimper, rocking yourself back and forth in tiny movements as if that'll make anything better. You let your head fall back in a silent howl of anguish and cover your face with your hands again, feeling tears drip from your chin onto the growing wet spot on your sleeping gown. "Oh god, I—I miss you _so much_..."

At some point, you cry yourself to sleep again, or at least into a light doze. When you open your eyes again—they're all gross and your face is covered in dried tears and you need a hot bath—you see the first pale hints of dawnbreak faintly in place of the moonlight. Numb and tired and cold, you swing your legs out of the bed and hold the blanket around your shoulders like a cloak as you walk to the window to look outside.

Dave's out there, doing some exercises and drills and stuff. You kind of expected that—after a while of being, well, very _not_ a morning person, he confessed he felt kind of unproductive if he kept sleeping in, and he started getting up really early. Probably as early as he had to get up in the army.

Your blood runs cold.

 _The army._

No, no, no, no no no _no no nononono—_

"Oh, god," you choke out again, wondering why you never thought to ask him if—it's been a year that he's been with you and you unwittingly gave him the keys to your heart and you don't even know if he's no better than the man who took Jake from you—what if he's just like them and you just didn't see it and now—

You whirl around and panic, because you don't know what to do, you don't you don't you don't, and because you need to do _something_ you hurry across the room and lock the door with a _snick_ that makes you feel marginally safer and alone, even though he's still outside, and then your knees decide they're done for now and buckle and you slide to the floor, trembling violently. You take a shaky breath, and another, and another. This is horrible this is horrible this is horrible you want _Jake back you want him back!_

You're not sure how much time passes as you sit there, alternately crying a little or just shivering and being unable to comprehend how any of this is fair. At some point, when the early morning light has grown stronger and the sun isn't near the horizon anymore but is visible above the treeline, you stand and, feeling like death itself, shuffle across the room to the enchanted wash basin—all the water in it is always clean—to wash your face and mouth.

For a moment you consider a wild fantasy that hurts so much that you can't bear it—what if it were you and Jake living out here together, instead of you and Dave? You can just see him dancing you around the kitchen as you wait for water to boil, or excitedly poring over magic texts with you in the living room—but then you feel the tears coming again, so you push the thought away hastily and splash more water on your face.

Then there's a knock at the door, and you freeze.

"Hey, Jade? You awake?"

Shit shit shit shit shit! _Shit_!

"Yeah," you call back as steadily as you can. Oh fuck, that wasn't very steady at all. Oh no he's going to ask if—

"...Are you okay?"

The concern in his voice feels real, so real that you really, really want to open the door and fall into his arms and let him convince you that you'll be okay like he always does. God, he makes you feel like it's actually okay, like you'll be alright, like there's something you have to live for other than just _existing_ , and you can't believe you've let yourself fall for him for real. All those jokes about your fairytale knight and being engaged and you deliberately ignored that he'd been in the army and pushed this question so far out of your mind it never even surfaced consciously until you saw him practicing drills in the aftermath of a nightmare—

"Jade?"

"I'm—I'm fine!"

He tries the door. Your breath catches in your throat as the lock rattles, but it holds firm.

"Jade! What are you doing? Why's this thing locked?"

"I said, I'm _fine!_ Go _away_ , Dave!" Fuck oh god your voice just broke you're so screwed. You bury your face in your hands again, hoping that they and the blanket can muffle the sob that refuses to be swallowed.

"Let me in," he demands. You don't move, instead going rigidly still.

"No!"

"Jade! What the hell? Are you okay?"

You don't answer, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself and huddling into a smaller ball on the floor. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , how could you think you could be friends with a _knight_ how could you let yourself forget that he was a knight how could you let yourself actually _love_ him!

How can you be sitting here _not wanting him to leave!_

Part of you is already breaking down and sobbing some more. Part of you refuses to believe there's even the possibility that your best friend—that Dave could ever have done anything like that. The rest of you isn't sure, and is terrified because of that uncertainty.

Dave tries the door again, frustratedly shaking it when it doesn't budge. "Let me in," he says again. "Jade. Please. What's wrong? Did you have another nightmare? Are you okay?"

You lift your head, your vision swimming with tears again. You feel hollow you feel numb you feel horrible you miss Jake you want to be held.

"Dave?"

"What is it?" he asks, anxiously, like he really, actually cares for you. The worst part is, you think he might.

"Did you ever... did you ever kill people?"

He's silent. Your heart sinks like a stone into an abyss of dread, and your fingers dig into your arms as you clutch at yourself, hating yourself and hating him and hating this whole world.

"I was on the battlefield plenty of times," he says after a moment, with effort. "It's—it's kill or be killed out there. Hah—" it's the disparaging, humorless snort of fake laughter that he always ends up bitterly letting out when he talks about the war. You hate that you know him well enough to know that talking about the war hurts him and that bitter sarcasm is how he responds to being hurt. You hate that you want to make him stop hurting. "You forget who you are. You forget literally every fucking thing you've ever known because there are people trying to kill you and there's blood and there's your best buddy's guts on the ground next to you and shit's on fire and people are screaming and dying. It's not fucking glorious. It's literal hell."

He pauses again. You hold your breath. You don't know if he'll say anything else or not. There's a soft thump from the other side of the door and he sighs deeply.

"So. Yeah. I've killed people. I'm not proud of it, but I have." His voice isn't coming from above you anymore, and you guess the thump was him sitting down on the floor.

The battlefield is different, though. You understand kill or be killed. You would've killed that man if you could, if it'd have saved Jake, if you could've saved Grandpa. You understand doing what you have to do to survive.

The malicious laughter and the cruel smile still ring in your memory. You feel a chill run down your spine as you draw the blanket closer still, clutching it so tightly around yourself that your knuckles go white. Almost against your will, you find yourself wondering—had Dave... has your Dave ever laughed like that? Smiled like that?

He can't have! Your—he's—he _can't_ be that kind of man. You won't believe it. But you have to know.

"Have you ever ... killed people, _not_ on the battlefield?" you ask almost timidly. You're afraid to ask, afraid to know, in case the answer is _yes_.

"Fuck no!" He sounds almost shocked that you'd even suggest such a thing. You feel an unexpected flurry of hope and warmth. "God, no. Look, I gave less than two shits about politics back in the capital, but when I got out there I got into so many arguments with my goddamn commander about avoiding cities in general. Look, I know you probably think oh look it's that asshole Dave, the soldier knight douche who probably goes around killing people for fun, but—ha—as if. You wanna know something?"

He pauses, blows out a breath. You can just imagine him running his hand through his hair like he does when he's frustrated or nervous and fidgety. "I was the fucking laughingstock of my division. The pansy princeling who didn't want any of this knight bullshit but couldn't leave because of his family. Like I actually give a fuck about them, you know. Look, Jade, I didn't ask for any of this, and I know I've done some shit that I regret, but I'm not some fucking murder-loving freak who goes around slaughtering people who have nothing to do with the war anyway!"

He's very defensive, you note. Maybe he'll keep talking and you'll find out why.

He doesn't, though. After a second, you're about to finally respond, except you hear his voice then, so quiet you almost can't make out the words.

"That's why I deserted."

"What is?" you ask softly. There's still that spot of hope in your chest that's making you want to get up and open the door and look at him and see him and hold him and let him hold you, but you can't yet, not until he finishes talking.

"We had orders," Dave says. "To set a village to the fucking torch for 'allying with Prospit', which was for some idiotic bullshit reason defined as not wanting to lodge Dersite soldiers in their homes. I didn't want to do it. The commander was mad as shit at me. Said he'd make me lead the charge. So I was like fuck you and left."

You're quiet for a second, relief making your heart pound and blood roar in your ears. Then you push yourself to your feet, kind of unsteady because you've been sitting down so long, and unlock the door. After a second, you pull it open, and there he is, sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall outside your bedroom. His hair is mussed as can be; you just know he was running his fingers through it like you thought earlier. It makes you want to smooth it down, but you don't.

He looks up at you as soon as the door opens, his eyes going wide. "Jade," he says, and would keep going, but you don't have words right now. Instead of fumbling for them you drop the blanket and let yourself fall to your knees and lurch forward into his lap, flinging your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asks, holding you close. The way his arms are so tight around you makes you think that you're not the only one he's trying to comfort here. You press him closer and take a shuddering breath.

"For doubting you. I trust you, I do. I—I'm... I love you. I'm sorry."

"You had every right," he shrugs slightly. "I don't blame you." His voice is almost as hollow as you feel, though, and that alone is enough to tell you he's still kind of shaken, kind of upset. You slide one of your hands up into his hair and scrunch your fingers through it gently, letting yourself relax into his arms again, like you always do.

"I had another nightmare," you say after a minute, feeling like you kind of at least owe him some kind of explanation "And then I looked outside and I saw you and I guess I was still really thinking about it and..."

His thumb rubs circles soothingly into your back, between your shoulderblades, as he gently shushes you. "It's okay," he says. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Neither did you," you say.

Dave surprises you when he turns his head and kisses your hair. "Love you too," he says instead of answering, not really. He seems to struggle with words for a moment. You let him take as long as he needs, just clinging to him the way he's clutching you. "But... Jade... you _know_ I'd never hurt you," he finally says, sounding distinctly unhappy. "Right?"

"I know," you assure him, pressing your face into his neck. "I just... I don't know. I panicked. I had to ask you if..." _if you're no better than a murdering monster, because I doubted you_ just sounds terrible. You don't want to say that to him! "I had to know that you're better than them. But I shouldn't have doubted you."

"I don't blame you," he says again as he draws you tighter to his chest. "It makes sense. I come from the same damn place. You had no way of really knowing."

"But you're _not_ like them," you say, surprising yourself with your vehemence. "They're _horrible_ and you're _amazing_. You're nothing like them!"

He lets out a dry, kind of humorless chuckle. "Thanks."

"I mean it," you tell him. "I really, really mean it."

Dave sighs deeply. You have a feeling that he's thinking about his time in the army, a time that you know troubles him a lot. He doesn't like thinking about it, but you made him first thing in the morning. Guiltily, you lift your head and kiss his cheek in apology.

"I came up here to ask if you wanted breakfast," he says suddenly. "Do you?"

"Yeah," you answer, "but I want to stay here for a minute first. Can we? Please?"

His arms tighten around you, and you can't help but think there's something protective about the way he tucks your head under his chin and presses you close. "'Course," he murmurs quietly. You hug him as tight as you can, because you're sitting here oh so very vulnerable in his arms, and he's trying to protect you because he's a wonderful person, and you love him.

But this is alright. He's holding you, and he's not a monster and he never has been, and he's the best friend you could've asked for and he's here, and when he's holding you, you know it'll be okay.

* * *

 _AN: Well, if you hadn't guessed, angst won by a landslide hehe!_

 _Jk, this chapter would've been upsetting either way. For the record, since summer when I started planning this story, the outline for chapter six has read "6. flashbacks. flesh out jade's backstory. bab no ;n;". But ye! Angst did win and that means I'll probably have the big plot going soon._

 _That said... I still have to do some work on plotting out the details and chapters, and that's work that's prioritized below calculus and chemistry and all that. College is difficult, I tell you. So if I don't manage to update fast, thaaaat would be why. :/_

 _Edit - Now that I'm not half asleep, I remembered that I wanted to include some actual notes in the AN this time. For one, the whole war and Jake's death thing. I don't intend to say Dave is a paragon of virtue, or that the one soldier Jade remembers too well is an absolute demon. All characters have moderately or less moderately grey moralities. However, Jade herself tends to view morality as a more black-and-white construct, mostly because she's not been around people for extended periods of time for years and she's hella lonely and wants to cling to ideals. The soldier who killed Jake probably had to dehumanize himself and get drunk off his ass because the idea of killing civilians is frankly terrible, and that's the only way he could do it. The point of this rambly note is to say that (as is probably obvious): the outlook of the character does not necessarily reflect the outlook of the author._

 _Anyway, thanks for reading! :) Reviews are fodder for the writing canon! ((see what I did there))_


	7. Of Dave's Musings And Songs

You hum and sing a lot. You're not sure if it's just a random, weird habit or maybe a remnant of music lessons, which might have been like the only How To Be A Proper Fucking Prince™ lessons you actually liked (except for some bits of history, you guess), but you hum and sing, a lot, without even thinking about it. Like right now, while you're taking the laundry down from the clothesline in the back yard. There's a strain of some song you heard a while ago floating through your head, and you just gotta pin that motherfucker down before it drifts away, so you sing it to the best of your ability.

It's cool, though. It's not like there's anyone around to see. Or hear, whatever. Jade's out at market today, said she needed to buy a few things—she mentioned it last night, and left you a note pinned to the couch this morning. Apparently she left before dawn so she'd get back early enough for lunch or dinner or somewhere in there. You're a little annoyed she didn't wake you to ask if you want to come—she's walking around out there in the dark before the sun comes up? Does she think that's safe?—but you keep reminding yourself she's done this for years before she even met you. And she's got magic and shit. She can keep herself safe. And hey, it gives you time to take care of some chores around the house.

It's weird. A year into this life and it's totally cool, and it's not weird in a bad way, but ... three years ago you were the son of the king of Derse. You? Doing _laundry?_ That would've been like the dumbest joke in existence. If someone had told you that you'd be happily walking around the back of a tiny-ass cottage in the woods and doing laundry for a witch, you'd have laughed in their face and told them to fuck off and get hella drunk elsewhere.

... You know, you really were an asshole back then. Wow.

Rose always said so, too. Then again, you always called her a freakish weirdo—only as a term of endearment, of course. If anyone else had said that to her, you would've handed their ass to them on a silver platter before hitting them with the platter, too. Because you're just cool like that.

You... you kind of really miss her. You still don't know if you want to talk to her, though. That might make you miss her _more_ , and also get her in trouble. Lots of it. She'd be in shit over her head, which you highly doubt she'd like, least of all because of the smell or sanitary issues.

"Oh, god fucking dammit," you mutter, breaking off the wisp of song and your train of thought, because you dropped one of your shirts into the grass. Luckily for you, it hasn't rained in a few days, and there's no mud, so you just dust it off and figure, eh, it's still clean enough, and dump it in the basket to be folded wth all the rest.

That was the last one. You pick up the now full basket and glance around—the clearing is really pleasant, especially in the late morning when all the springtime's dew and mist are evaporating into a kind of foggy steam and the entire place has a really bright green and gold look in the sunlight that streams through the trees like a little shower of gold and. And wow. Are you going to stand here and write a fucking poem about nature and shit? Seriously?

You shake your head at yourself and scoff a little as you walk back towards the house, going to the living room to start folding the clothes. It's domestic as hell and you still think it's kind of funny that you've gone from prince to knight to, well... whatever this is.

But then thinking about knighthood makes you sober up, thinking about how Jade freaked the fuck out after that nightmare a few days ago. God...

You lift out a pair of pants and fold them, as neatly as you're bothered to because they're yours. You still kind of hate _every single fucking thing_ about being in the army, but you're starting to think the thing you hate about it most is the part about being forced to fight a war you don't believe in and hurt all these people like Jade. It's such bullshit. The war with Prospit has been going on for so damn long that it's more of a matter of _pride_ now than anyone actually giving a fuck about the tiny-ass strip of land that you're fighting over. Most people in Derse _hate_ Prospit. You'd wager most people in Prospit hate Derse. And especially in the capital cities, too, which are so far removed from the fighting. They aren't touched when people out there by the front lines have to become refugees.

"This is fucking bullshit, bullshit to the max," you mumble, to the rough tune of the song from earlier, as you pair two socks and put them in their pile. "Wars are fucking bullshit, and that would be the facts."

You don't think you'll ever forget how upset Jade was the other day, asking you through her locked door if you'd... ever killed people who weren't trying to kill you. You couldn't even see her face and that question still haunts you like a restless specter that needs to sit its ghostly ass down and chill.

There were times, back in the army camp, when you really wondered if you were the one in the wrong whenever you felt like killing defenseless people wasn't right. You know, like all the laws say not to do? But apparently that's all suspended in fuckin' wartime. Everyone else followed orders and didn't complain and talk back and refuse when told to sack a village. You'd just hated the idea _so much_ that you'd taken fifteen lashes for repeated disrespect to the commander, just so that you could be left in the injured tent and not forced to don armor and fight. Most people would've gotten thirty and if they could walk, they'd have been sent out anyway, but being the king's son does have its few perks. You've still got the scars, too.

It was a shitty thing to do, though. It didn't save anything or anyone but your own conscience. You blow out a sigh and fold one of Jade's skirts.

"Who the fuck thought all like, killing shit sounds smart," you keep improvising lyrics. It's a bit of a struggle to make them fit the verse style, but you don't particularly care _that_ much. "This is the dumbest shit and I want no part. Wait, no, that sounds stupid."

"I liked it!" Jade's voice, coming from behind you, startles you and makes you jump so that you nearly knock over a pile of socks, except that thank fuck for your reflexes because you catch it. You whip your head around and stare at her.

"Uh. You're... home?" Oh, yeah, great job, Strider. No, she's not home, she's just an apparition standing there and looking like Jade would if she walked in on you serenading the laundry about how dumb war is.

In the doorway, she laughs and nods. "Guess so! It didn't take so long to get all the groceries and things we needed."

She puts the big bag slung over her shoulder down with a _thunk_ against the hard wooden floor and skips around the couch to plop down next to you. You keep a precarious stack of shirts from falling over and whine at her in protest for nearly knocking them to the ground. "Hey, not cool, I just spent all fuckin' morning taking care of this shit."

"Sorry, sorry!" she waves her hands at you in what you think is supposed to be a placatory gesture but is too energetic to be conciliatory or calming in any way. Then she leans in and to your (pleasant) surprise, wraps an arm loosely around your waist and lays her head on your shoulder. "I missed you," she says. "And you have a very nice voice. You should sing more often!"

"Forgiven, I missed you too, and wow you're hilarious, fuck that," you answer promptly, not missing a beat as you slide an arm about her too, giving her a quick squeeze. "How was market?"

"Market was fine, same as usual," she chirps, not lifting her head. "You do have a really pretty voice! How is it that you've never sung for me before?"

"Oh my god, are you gonna let that go already or what?"

"Nope!" A little giggle accompanies that statement, and you can't help but think that firstly, she shouldn't be allowed to be so damn cute, and secondly, you're so fucking glad you're both friends again, after that morning a few days ago. God, that scared you.

Maybe it's that relief that keeps you from complaining and poking fun like you usually might, but honestly sometimes keeping up façades, cool as they can be, gets exhausting. So you just huff a sigh. "You're fucking kidding me, right?"

Jade lifts her head to look up at you with twinkling eyes that are shining with mischief. You have a terrible feeling about this.

"Hmmmmmmm," she pretends to consider, leaning into your side. You've very aware of how close she is, pressed up against you, and you kind of want to pull her into your lap and hold her tight and maybe kiss her, too, but you don't do that. You don't want to freak her out. "Nope!" she says again, and pecks your cheek. "I mean it! You should sing more!"

"What do you want me to sing, more _this war is fucking bullshit_?" you deadpan, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Yes!"

"What the fuck—No. No, I'm not doing that, because you know what? That's also fucking bullshit, Jade."

She gives you a sad, beseeching look. "Pleeease? You can sing the original version of the song, it's one of my favorites!"

Oh, goddammit you can't say no when she turns those big imploring eyes on you. You bet she _knows_ it, too, damn her. "I don't know the words to the original," you try lamely, knowing that the second you admitted this was the reason you're not singing it to her, you already lost.

"Oh, that's easy!" Jade beams. "I can tell you."

"Okay okay but before that," you cut her off quickly, trying to regain lost ground, "shouldn't we put all that shit you brought home away? You know, take care of the important stuff first and all that?"

"Mmm... we _should_ , yes," she agrees, tucking her feet up on the couch and leaning her head against your shoulder again. "But gosh, Dave, I've been out walking all day. Can't I sit down and rest and steal some cuddles for a little bit?"

"I guess you can. I'll allow that," you say, straight-faced. Jade laughs and shifts so she can slip her other arm around you, too, and you can't help but pull her closer now, leaning back against the end of the couch that's not covered in laundry and pulling her against your chest. You tuck her head under your chin and she sighs, curling up in your arms, so you start to rub her back sympathetically. Damn, she's gotta be tired. That's a fairly long walk, though you're kind of used to that kind of thing from all the marches. "Doesn't have anything to do with me singing, though."

"We can always upgrade the definition of cuddling to include you singing," she suggests. You can't see her face, but you'd be willing to bet a week's worth of apple juice that she's doing the little innocuous smile, the one that's all like "making dumbass suggestions? me? never!" that she has everytime she makes a dumbass suggestion.

"Or—get this novel idea, Jade—we could just _not_."

"Or we could!"

"Let's not."

"Let's!"

"Nah."

She picks up her head and looks at you. "Yes we should!"

You place a hand on her cheek and push her back down against your shoulder, shaking your head slightly. "Nah."

"Yes!"

"Nope."

"Yeah!"

"Nah."

"Come on, Dave, why not! Please?"

"Nooope," you say, popping the P and leaning back indolently, even letting your head fall back against the cushions. You could do this aaaall fuckin' day, man.

"Yeees!" she insists.

"No."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Dave!"

"Jade."

"C'mon!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"Oh my fucking god, how long are we going to do this," you finally break the pattern to ask, looking down at her. Jade matches your raised eyebrow with a grin that clearly says _I'm game_ or maybe _bring it_ , even as she snuggles up closer to your chest.

"I don't know!" she says. "Depends on how long it takes for you to admit that singing during cuddle time isn't as bad of an idea as you're making it out to be!"

"It's a pretty bad idea," you say dubiously. "Seriously. What even is your deal with that."

"I _told_ you!" she exclaims. "You have such a nice voice! Next time I should just figure out a spell to... hm..." Okay, now she's trailing off in thought and you're... you're a little concerned.

"A spell to what," you say, somewhere between a question and a statement. "You're not, like, gonna all magically force me to sing or something, right? Because that'd be fucked up." You're joking. Mostly. She's never done anything like that before, but you don't know what kind of spells she knows. Or what kind of spells exist. Honestly, every time you mention a task she's like, "oh, there's a spell for that!" and it's kind of weird. Kinda cool, too, but still weird.

Jade looks mildly horrified. "Of _course_ not! I'd never—I don't even know the spell for that!"

"Okay, cool," you say. "Just checkin'. Hey, don't get your panties in a twist, I was joking. Stop giving me that look!"

"They're not twisted," she says. "Didn't you just spend the last few minutes folding the laundry?"

"Goddammit, Jade."

She laughs. Then she shakes her head as if to remind herself of the original topic. "But I was saying! I should maybe see if I can make a spell to record sounds and play them back later. That way, if I can just sneak up on a stunning rendition of _this war is fucking bullshit_ , I won't have to badger you to hear it again!"

"Oh my god," you say. And then you stop and consider that. If she could record sounds magically, that... holy shit you suddenly want a guitar again. You've never cared too much for your voice, but god _damn_ you loved learning music in your How To Be A Princely Asshole™ classes. It'd be so cool, you could play duets with yourself... "Actually, yeah. That would be pretty awesome. Not the part about you sneaking up on me to listen to me sing like a fucking creeper, but the recording spell thing."

"I'm just not too sure how I'd _do_ that," she confesses, laying her head back on your shoulder and considering. "I'll have to experiment and see what happens, I guess! That could be fun."

"Just please don't blow up half the house again," you request. "That shit was a pain."

Her giggle is sheepish. "It was an accident, okay!"

"Well I'd sure as fuck _hope_ so!"

Jade laughs. You really, really like hearing her laugh, not just because you love seeing your best friend happy, but also because god every time she has one of those nightmares you're fucked up thinking about it for a week. She'd been doing this on her own for _years_ before you got here, and that fucks you up, too. You wonder if she laughed much during those years. Somehow, you kinda doubt it.

Also, you really like hearing her laugh at your jokes because you've _hella_ fallen for her, but y'know. Whatever. Part of you gets a real kick out of this—a Dersite prince in love with a Prospitian witch. Wow, that suuure is a match made in heaven right there.

A hand trailing through your hair gets your attention off those thoughts, and you glance down at Jade questioningly. She doesn't say anything, just smiles at you and gently brushes your bangs aside from your eyes.

"My goddamn hair is getting pretty long," you say, reminded of how annoying it is that it's always in your face. You haven't cut it in ... in a while. "I need to chop that shit off."

"I like it, though!" Jade objects, then shrugs it off and laughs. "But okay, I can cut it for you if you like."

"That would be great."

"Okay! Tonight. But for now," she reaches up to her own messy bun and takes the hair tie out, shaking her head a few times as her giant cascade of black curls spills everywhere. Then she shifts, halfway kneeling as she gathers your hair into a little ponytail at the nape of your neck, tying it off deftly and scooting back down into your arms again. "How's that?"

"Much better," you say. "Still cutting it off tonight."

"Okay," she wrinkles her nose. Then she sighs. "I guess we should put all the groceries up now, huh?"

"Probably," you say, giving her a little nudge. "C'mon. Up. Can't let all those goodies sit there and go bad or whatever."

"Fiiiine," she draws out the word and pushes herself to her feet. You grin as you follow her to restock all the pantry shelves and the enchanted icebox, because god _damn_ she is cute, and also, in terms of the romance department, you are so _very screwed._

And that night, after she trims your hair to your satisfaction and the two of you return to the couch, now cleared of all laundry, she lays her head on your shoulder. You're telling her a story about Rose and you, and you can tell she's fighting to keep her eyes open—a losing battle, right there—and so in a moment of impulsive _why the fuck not_ decision-making, you lift her into your arms to carry her back to her bedroom, and sing a lullaby as you walk. You think you'll be seeing the smile it brings to her sleepy face in your dreams.

* * *

 _AN: I hope I caught all the typographical errors. Wooo, editing after pulling an all nighter is fun. -_-_

 _So, yeah, here! Look, it's not ALL angst from here on out. So yeah. Everyone can be happy. :D_

 _...Yeah, I'm too tired for a coherent author's note. Thanks for reading, pls review c:_


End file.
